


One Wild Ride

by fragrantwoods



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Biker 'Verse, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-27
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-08 13:47:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 76
Words: 150,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragrantwoods/pseuds/fragrantwoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This drabble, A/R in an A/U, begins a saga spanning decades on Caprica after the first Cylon War. We meet them when they are the ages they were at the start of the mini-series, and then we go up, down, and all around, learning how this couple  came to be in this A/U that is heavily informed by "Sons of Anarchy" themes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Old Man, the Old Lady

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/fragrantwoods/pic/0001thhd/)

 

 

The mechanic was a shaggy, rugged-looking man with a white smile under his mustache.

Cut-off denim sleeves showed thick biceps and varicolored ink. He had been a Viper pilot, a Cylon War Vet. Had two sons.

He'd pulled some time, by the crude bluish ink along his knuckles.

He went by “'Dama”, or “the Old Man” these days. He hadn’t been “Bill” in years.  He was just an old biker in a motorcycle club, the Tauron Outlaws Motorcycle Club, Original Caprica, president of men like himself.

He held back 10% of every deal. A handful knew where the second cache was: Tigh-man, Doc, and Lee, his son and TOMCOC’s V.P. Scattered cynical men across Caprica, on the edge of the law and certain that the Cylons weren’t done with humanity any more than humanity was done with over-confidence.

Carolanne split while he was inside—he should have listened to his grandmother, he thought. Carolanne never did have the chops to be an MC Old Lady.

The long-legged cool redhead exiting the smoking sedan, now…rueful grin with a hard-ass edge, meeting his eyes with aplomb…she had Old Lady potential, if memory served.

“Hey, Laura. Your ride need work?”

She smiled.

“Yeah.”  
  
  
  
A/N I know this is ridiculous...but there are scenes with Laura in BSG  and scenes with Gemma in SoA that make me think they have some sisterhood under the skin  


  



	2. The Old Man, the Old Lady

  


  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/fragrantwoods/pic/0001thhd/)

 

 

Her color was high; she’d been walk-running in heels for two blocks. Adar’s cold shoulder would be waiting when she slunk into the meeting, red hair sleeked neatly in front, a few strands still wildly tousled in the back where she hadn’t been able to see in the cracked mirror.

She’d cursed and yanked off her stockings at a stoplight when she noticed the runs.

The breeze hitting the wet spots on her panties made her wish her skirt was longer.

Grabbing the door, she steadied herself. At least her long jacket covered the mechanic’s smudged fingerprints on her skirt.

 

 


	3. If He'd Only Known

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/fragrantwoods/pic/0001thhd/)

Original fic link: [The Old Man, the Old Lady](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/368775.html)  
Previous challenge no 95: another chapter [ Running Late](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387740.html)

 

He was just going to fix her car. He wasn’t planning to turn too quickly and run into her following too close. He would have cleaned up, gotten a shower, put on clothes with no rips, if he’d known.  He’d have taken her out: dinner, wine, apartment, a decent bed. 

If he’d known, he’d have ensured they had privacy, time to talk about the old days, had some laughs. But she’d been too close behind him, smelling like she used to, and the gritty bathroom in back had a lock on the door. And when they kissed, she’d turned it.  



	4. Presidential Abstinence

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/fragrantwoods/pic/0001thhd/)

Not my characters, not my show  
A/N: written for challenge no104: Abstinence   
Follow-up drabble to previous AU drabbles [The Old Man, the Old Lady](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/368775.html), [Running Late](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387740.html), and [If He'd Only Known...](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387991.html)

 

 

Richard Adar shoved the report under more folders as she walked in. He let himself enjoy a glimpse of long legs under a short navy skirt, a lingering glance at red waves falling over the breast of her jacket. He looked past her eyes.

“How’s your car, Laura?”

His tone was lethally casual as he watched her puzzled frown.

“What are you talking about?”

His fingers toyed with the edge of the report as he met her eyes. He could almost feel the heat of her skin against his palms but steeled himself, keeping the desk between them.

“Your vintage Mustang your Dad left you. I understand you had to go quite a bit out of your way to get it…serviced.”

Satisfaction battled with anger as he watched her cheeks begin to flush.

“Your security detail was alarmed that you chose a convicted felon to work on your antique”—

Her professional poise still intact, she interrupted, “That was the closest garage when it started over-heating.”

—“vehicle, their alarm increasing when they lost sight of you for twenty-seven minutes.”

He pulled out the folder, opening it. “The Secretary of Education appeared distracted and somewhat disheveled upon exit, then proceeded to the scheduled Cabinet meeting.”

Her usually calm green eyes had gone icy. Where had his agreeable Laura gone, he wondered. Where’d this rebellious redhead come from?

“Richard, I’m done explaining myself to you. After all, I’m not your _wife._ ”

He ignored the stabbing guilt as he rose, hands white-knuckled on the desk. “You’re not my _anything_ , effective immediately. I feel suddenly abstentious, after reading this. Anything you need, get it from your hoodlum mechanic Adama.”

He thought he’d see regret, not a sensual smile as she said, “It’ll be my pleasure, Mr. President.” She turned gracefully, walking out of his life.

 


	5. Driving Lessons

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/fragrantwoods/pic/0001thhd/)

Not my characters or show  
for challenge no 104: Abstinence   
Follow-up drabble to previous AU drabbles [The Old Man, the Old Lady](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/368775.html), [Running Late](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387740.html), and [If He'd Only Known...](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387991.html) and [Presidential Abstinence](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/73857.html)

 

  


She’d been so scared…he’d appeared so confident, his fear hidden, secret. Few enough years separated them in age, but the scars left from a brutal war made him a million years older than her. _He couldn’t believe her father trusted him_ , he’d thought, palms sweating.

He’d let her be in control, her foot on the pedal, her hand on the shift. He thought he’d have to struggle to get her to listen to him, thought she’d put up more of a fight…but she was eighteen, her wide green eyes begging him to understand that she trusted him. _Completely._ Begged him to be worthy of that trust.

She’d known how to drive a wimpy four-cylinder stick, but she’d walk away from him knowing how to manage a muscle car. He tried not to think about the walking away...He hadn’t planned for this to happen. Things got out of control, clouds moving in way too fast.

One stop, a burger, a soda, and talking that wouldn’t quit, her hair shining, falling over a nubby over-sized sweater. And the clouds had dumped over an inch of ice on the roads…

She asked, then begged him to drive. He was older, more experienced. He put her hands on the wheel and said he’d get her through it. They made it back to her house, her hands and feet, instruments under his control: clutch, downshift, turn right, ease up, turn into the skid. She was so scared, and she trusted his every word. She was shy and shaking when they got back, her eyes hot with adrenaline and safe landings.

_Can you stay_ , she’d asked. In the dark garage, in the ice, the snow.

_When it comes to your Dad’s daughters, I’m abstinent_ , he’d joked, as he walked into the cold night, aching.  


  


  



	6. "Let Me Go Crazy"

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/fragrantwoods/pic/0001thhd/)

Rating: M-17  
Setting: AU, long ago and far away...takes place after [Driving Lessons ](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/440161.html)  
  


She looked at her reflection like a detective in a cheap paperback, searching for clues, signs, evidence. A slight abrading along her jawline…and it had taken the magnifying mirror to see that. She was safe, for now.

 _Summer break, calls from an old friend, an old crush, a picnic, a stream_. The water had been clear as glass as she stretched out on the old plaid blanket, closing her eyes against the sunlight streaming between the limbs and leaves above their heads.

She’d heard he had a girl in the service, heard what happened. She didn’t bring it up. Neither did he. She wondered if things would’ve gone differently if she’d offered condolences, her sympathy, but that had seemed so inadequate. She’d kept her mouth shut until he opened his, a whisper away from her lips.

He’d been like lava, inexorable, flowing, burning everything in his path, soft bites down her skin, shoving her bra aside, sucking flesh between his teeth. Hoarse husky murmurs, permissions sought and granted, two sets of zippers rasped, sweet wild tastes sparking between their tongues.

“I don’t think I can”—

“Shh.” He ignored her doubts and her ears burned; she could hear how wet she was. Then he touched her differently from how she touched herself. She thought she couldn’t come like this, and then she knew she would, her amazement blazing away at his fingertips, the park disappearing into blackness and starfire.

She came back to herself with his length in her hand, him holding her wrist as he moved. She found her own grip and slid her fist to her rhythm. He buried his face in her neck as he shuddered, moving himself away from her clothes, coming over their clasped hands.

“Next time, bring a condom,” she whispered.

He nodded slowly, mesmerized.

  
  



	7. Autumn Leaves

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/fragrantwoods/pic/0001thhd/)

Rating:G  
Non-challenge drabble

Follow-up drabble to previous AU drabbles [The Old Man, the Old Lady](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/368775.html) , [Running Late](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387740.html) .[If He'd Only Known...](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387991.html), [Presidential Abstinence](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/439867.html), [Driving Lessons](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/440161.html), ["Let Me Go Crazy"](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/442211.html)  


  


  


Hot and sweet, a special scent bought for summer. Jasmine and ginger and a hint of vanilla. Tearing foil, catching breath, the rasp of evening beard-shadow on creamy skin. Curving dents in leather upholstery, heels dug into mossy creek banks. Hair combed in a tilted rearview mirror, blades of grass, flower petals, then the first shards of brown-turned leaves falling to the floorboards.

Castles were spun in the air, built of teaching positions and successful small businesses. He’d fix dinner while she graded papers. She’d do his accounts. The seasons turned. The castle’s spires wavered and shimmered like the air above a bonfire.

She took a semester off-world. Summer brought an internship offer he encouraged her to take.

He got a job on a freighter with a Caprica-Aerilon run, gave up his apartment, put his stuff in storage.

They wrote, at first.

Her father said she wasn’t home much, she’d gotten involved in educational legislative issues. She’d been accepted into the graduate program.

His friends said he wasn’t around much, if he wasn’t on a run, he was buying inventory for his uncle, looking towards his own shop one day.

 She was off-world when she met a man, a fellow believer in education reform, clean hands and eyes the color of smoky Port. She hadn’t caught up with Bill in almost a year. She put away that one summer’s perfume.

He was off-world when he met a woman in an over-heated pub, eyes as dark as the earth she worked on her farm. Her husband went to fight Cylons once and never came back. Bill helped her get up hay on his shore leave.

Neither he nor Laura seemed to make planet-fall on Caprica at the same time anymore.

_Maybe one day_ , they each thought, as the seasons kept changing.   


  


  


  



	8. Ivy Covered Hallowed Halls

Originally posted by [](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/profile)[**fragrantwoods**](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/) at [Ivy Covered Hallowed Halls](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/446803.html)

Title:Ivy Covered Hallowed Halls  
author: [](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/profile)[ **fragrantwoods**](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/)  
Word Count: 300  
Rating:G  
Non-challenge drabble  
  
Follow-up drabble to previous AU drabbles [The Old Man, the Old Lady](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/368775.html) , [Running Late](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387740.html) .[If He'd Only Known...](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387991.html), [Presidential Abstinence](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/439867.html), [Driving Lessons](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/440161.html), ["Let Me Go Crazy"](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/442211.html), [Autumn Leaves](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77356.html)

  


  


His mouth was ridiculously dry, heart hammering like he expected pounding clanking steps, gunfire _. Get it together, Bill, it’s been three years._

Easing through the brick and granite gates, he started looking for a parking spot, somewhere away from the Mercedes, the Volvos. Speed bumps and cobblestones rattled his primer-spotted Chevy as he cruised slowly through the campus, finally squeezing in behind a green dumpster. _Time for reconnoitering._

Bill’s usual easy gait began to stiffen as each step revealed how long it had been since he’d set foot on college grounds. _When did jeans and t-shirts go out of style_?  He’d picked out a new shirt, dark blue, with sleeves long enough to cover his Viper tattoo. His faded jeans were free of oil stains and rips. He’d shined his black leather boots, his pitted cheeks were clean-shaven, moustache neatly trimmed.

He didn’t see anyone else looking even remotely like him.

The manicured grounds held clusters of students; khakis and polo shirts, beardless young faces, pressed slacks and long shorts, skirts and breezy spring sweaters, long shining hair. Even the grad students looked like they’d never been touched by the Cylon War. So many books held so casually….

A flash of red hair caught his eye, near the three-story lecture hall her father had suggested. He’d taken a step towards her before he scanned the scene, then faltered to a stop. His Laura wore a conservative navy suit, modest pink blouse, and…were those _pumps_? She juggled a portfolio between herself and a clean-cut handsome young man, smiling and chatting with her classmates. He could hear her laugh across the yard.

The guy threw a familiar arm over Laura's shoulder. Bill turned and walked back to his car.  He flung the crumpled parking ticket out his window as he drove away.

  


  


  



	9.  Separate Lives

Title: Separate Lives  
Author: [](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/profile)[ **fragrantwoods**](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/)  
Word Count: 300  
Rating: G  
Non-challenge drabble, AU  
  
Follow-up drabble to previous AU drabbles [The Old Man, the Old Lady](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/368775.html) , [Running Late](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387740.html) .[If He'd Only Known...](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387991.html), [Presidential Abstinence](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/439867.html), [Driving Lessons](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/440161.html), ["Let Me Go Crazy"](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/442211.html), [Autumn Leaves](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77356.html), [Ivy Covered Hallowed Halls](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77703.html)   
   


  


  


Laura was still on her adrenaline high after her final group presentation for the semester. The professor had actually thought they had a decent working model for inter-colony record transfers that would track migrant children as their parents worked between worlds. She was still shaking: they had found out right before their presentation that a representative from the Ministry of Education was observing. Her pulse had skyrocketed, her nervous fingers ripping corners off her note cards. She sent up an extra prayer of thanksgiving to the Lords of Kobol that she’d borrowed her roommate’s interview suit this morning. Any edge it had given her, she was grateful for.

Brad had taken a last look at the professor’s notes and wrapped an arm around her, giving her a congratulatory kiss on the cheek before twining fingers with Michael to pull him towards the dining hall. The couple was almost to the crosswalk when Brad turned back to her.

“Did you see that guy watching you? Older dude?”

“What…no—who was he?”

“No idea. Looked rough around the edges, didn’t look like he goes here.”

“It’s that guy—see?” Michael pointed out a primer-speckled Chevy, muffler roaring. Something flew out of the window as the driver took off. There was something familiar in the tilt of his head…

She walked over by the dumpster and stooped to pick up what he’d tossed. _Just doing my part to keep our campus clean_....The set of his shoulders wasn’t really that familiar. Not after three years. It could have been anybody.

Anybody with a thick head of dark brown hair

Anybody comfortable with driving a near-vintage stick around town.

She wasn’t that surprised when the smoothed-out parking ticket had “William Adama” on it. Or that the breeze suddenly seemed tinged with jasmine and ginger.

  


  



	10. Dotted Line

Originally posted by [](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/profile)[**fragrantwoods**](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/) at [Dotted Line](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/449542.html)

Title: Dotted Line  
Author: [](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/profile)[ **fragrantwoods**](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/)  
Rating: G  
Word Count; 300  
Follow-up drabble to previous AU drabbles [The Old Man, the Old Lady](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/368775.html) , [Running Late](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387740.html) .[If He'd Only Known...](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387991.html), [Presidential Abstinence](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/439867.html), [Driving Lessons](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/440161.html), ["Let Me Go Crazy"](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/442211.html), [Autumn Leaves](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77356.html), [Ivy Covered Hallowed Halls](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77703.html), [Separate Lives](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/448079.html)  


  


  


“Sign here…and here, then initial the other pages.”

Bill Adama scratched his name on pages of “terms” and “conditions.” The bank officer had the nervous sweats, eyes twitching to the envelope of fifties on the table.

“Your copy of the disclosure papers, Mr. Adama.”

The man’s shaking hand made the papers rattle as he set them by the cash. Bill raised an eyebrow at the jumpy little banker, wondering if he saw this for the farce it was.

The paper wouldn’t disclose where the money had come from for the down payment on the garage Bill was buying.

It wouldn’t disclose the lines he’d crossed to earn it.

It wouldn’t disclose the new uneasiness in his uncle’s eyes when he looked at Bill, questioning but not wanting to know.

The piles of cash stunk of hidden holds and engine grease and a faint tang of copper…but it spent as well as honest earnings.

He’d dreamed, once, of being in an office like this, Laura’s hand on his knee under the table as they signed on a house loan. _Three bedrooms for the children that would come, two bathrooms: one for her scents and soaps, one for his grease and grime._

He dug, almost ripping the pen through the paper. She’d get that one day, he knew. It just wouldn’t be with him.

The loan officer handed him keys to a four-bay garage with false walls, underground rooms and passages that weren’t on the plans filed down at the courthouse. They didn’t shake hands.

“All done?” The blonde’s predatory smile was framed by carefully mussed hair. She posed against his bike like she’d just gotten off the pole.

“Yeah.” He handed her a helmet.

“Daddy’ll be so happy,” she gushed.

“That’s what he pays me for,” he said, starting the engine.

  


  


  



	11. Coming to the Table

Word Count: 300  
Rating:T  
Follow-up drabble to previous AU drabbles [The Old Man, the Old Lady](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/368775.html) , [Running Late](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387740.html) .[If He'd Only Known...](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387991.html), [Presidential Abstinence](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/439867.html), [Driving Lessons](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/440161.html), ["Let Me Go Crazy"](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/442211.html), [Autumn Leaves](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77356.html), [Ivy Covered Hallowed Halls](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77703.html) , [Separate Lives](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/448079.html)  
Posted here due to absence of Laura in this drabble  


  


  


The smell of sawdust and fresh shellac drifted over the long carved table. The heavy doors shut out the noise from the street, but the revving of Harley engines in the parking lot came through. Young-old men straggled through the twin doors, a couple still holding the thousand-yard stare of old combat in their eyes.

One slipped in the back entrance, sunglasses and cap suggesting an outstanding warrant.

One was prematurely grey, time spent patching up Cylon-torn men taking its toll. He’d be white-haired before thirty.

Decorated leather vests spread out along the long wooden table. Stylized Vipers with a grinning skull in the cockpit, an outline of a Battlestar worked into the background, a patch showing a human hand at the sweet spot on a broken Cylon neck. A nod to their first backer, to the Adama heritage, in a rusty red and brown image of Tauron seen from space. There was one for each man, and a few extra for those who would come later.

Saul Tigh took his seat next to the head of the table, his grin wild and crazy, a streak of coral lipstick on the edge of his white t-shirt and last night’s beer still on his breath. He handed Bill a stolen gavel with a hand still showing red swollen knuckles.

Bill looked around the table, counting unfilled chairs. Hints would be dropped at VA halls all over Caprica, Viper tats flashed and recognized, names of Battlestars whispered between restless, cynical men. The table would fill.

Outside this chapel of structured lawlessness, the garage would hum and grind, earning legitimate money for the families of the men at the table. Inside, over the carved wood, other business would take place.

Bill banged the gavel down and opened the meeting.

_So say we all._

  


  



	12. Long and Low and Sleek and Fast

Originally posted by [](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/profile)[**fragrantwoods**](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/) at ["Long and Low and Sleek and Fast"](http://about-time.livejournal.com/204666.html)

Title: Long and Low and Sleek and Fast  
Author: [](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/profile)[ **fragrantwoods**](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/)  
Word Count: 630  
Rating:T  
Follows the following AU drabbles

[The Old Man, the Old Lady](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/368775.html) , [Running Late](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387740.html) .[If He'd Only Known...](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387991.html), [Presidential Abstinence](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/439867.html), [Driving Lessons](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/440161.html), ["Let Me Go Crazy"](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/442211.html), [Autumn Leaves](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77356.html), [Ivy Covered Hallowed Halls](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77703.html) , [Separate Lives](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/448079.html), [Dotted Line](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/78706.html), [Coming to the Table](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/78924.html), [Memories of Sweeter Days](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/79512.html), [Time Machine](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/79649.html)

  


  


It was beautiful. Low and lean, sparkling emerald in the sun, the wild horse on the grill shining with a silver-white glow. The black rag-top was slick and supple, ready to retract on a summer day. It looked like dangerous laughter and innocence made metal.

Mr. Roslin stopped listening to Bill’s recitation of parts and labor within minutes, his humming an echo of his daughter’s as he ran his hand lightly over the new paint.

“Bill, it _never_ looked this good. Not even when she was new.”

 “I’m glad you’re satisfied with it. It was a pleasure to work on...she’s a real beauty.”

Bill’s smile was lit with old embers of past summer heat. Every scrap of old leather, the pieces of faded carpet with old dirt ground deep into the fibers, the smooth worn wooden knob of the gearshift…he had a memory attached to every inch of the old muscle car. There had still been a strand of auburn hair caught in the back seat belt catch, almost buried under the back of the seat. He’d felt foolish when he’d wound it around his finger, then slipped it off and into his wallet…but he’d done it just the same.

In the evening, when the shop was all but abandoned, he’d put a tape on the sound system, songs of that winter he’d taught her to really handle the car. And songs of that following summer that he’d thought would stretch out forever, until life and plans and reality got in the way.

He was adjusting the mirrors for the third time when Mr. Roslin spoke again.

“She’s going to love it.”

Bill thought he’d be used to that hitch in his breath whenever Mr. Roslin made a reference to Laura by now. It still always caught him by surprise. Keeping her close in his memories didn’t hurt as much as being reminded again that she was on Caprica, following a path that wouldn’t be his to share.

The older man kept his eyes on the reflective finish. “She’s coming back to Caprica City soon. She’ll be doing some substitute teaching, start looking for a permanent position in one of the local schools."

Bill buffed a non-existent mar on the chrome trim in front.

Mr. Roslin cleared his throat. “Her sisters are thrilled she’ll be closer to home. Me, too, for that matter.”

Popping the hood, Bill nodded absently as he checked fluid levels again. He wondered if his flushed neck would be hidden by the angle of the hood, if Mr. Roslin would be too polite to notice. He hoped so.

 “I’m going to ask Laura to bring it to you for maintenance after I give it to her.” He stood at Bill’s elbow until Bill had tightened all the caps and had given the engine a final check.

“To my place.” He sighed. “Mr. R, you might want to ask her where she wants to take it. She might have another preference.”

Mr. Roslin shook his head. “I know my daughter. She’ll want to stick with someone she trusts. And I’d prefer she stay with someone I trust, too.”

Bill felt a twinge of embarrassment and wondered if Mr. Roslin could see hints of that summer in his eyes, but the old man was looking fixedly at the bottom half of the Viper tattoo on Bill’s bicep.

_I know my daughter_ , he’d said. Bill wondered what he knew about their history, and if she ever mentioned his name anymore.

Bill could smell her perfume though the leather, deep in the frame. He wiped the grease off his hands and stuck the shabby cloth back in his toolbox, taking one last deep breath.

“If she needs anything, let me know.” He clicked his toolbox closed.

“I’ll be around.”

  


  


  



	13. Anything for Love

Originally posted by [](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/profile)[**fragrantwoods**](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/) at [Anything for Love](http://about-time.livejournal.com/206855.html)

Title: Anything for Love  
Author: [](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/profile)[ **fragrantwoods**](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/)  
Word Count: 1270  
Rating:M, Warning for DV  
Follows the following AU drabbles

[The Old Man, the Old Lady](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/368775.html) , [Running Late](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387740.html) .[If He'd Only Known...](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387991.html), [Presidential Abstinence](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/439867.html), [Driving Lessons](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/440161.html), ["Let Me Go Crazy"](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/442211.html), [Autumn Leaves](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77356.html), [Ivy Covered Hallowed Halls](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77703.html) , [Separate Lives](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/448079.html), [Dotted Line](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/78706.html), [Coming to the Table](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/78924.html), [Memories of Sweeter Days](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/79512.html), [Time Machine](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/79649.html) , ["Long and Low and Sleek and Fast"](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/82217.html)

  
  


 

The crowded lobby swirled around her as she made her way to the bank of pay phones. The noise of crying children and arguing adults made her head throb, adding to the pain in her nose and cheek. A draft from an overhead vent chilled the back of her neck and she reached up to adjust her scarf before realizing it wasn’t there. 

Laura swore under her breath. She must have dropped the blood-soaked scarf when she got out of the cab. She remembered looking at the bright butterflies stained with red, the errant thought that they were bleeding, too, flitting through her mind as she paid the driver. Maybe she could call the company later, she thought. She rummaged through her purse for the receipt, laying the “intimate partner violence” brochure she’d been given down on a small wooden bench. She didn’t pick it up again. He wasn’t a “partner” and “intimate” seemed too sweet a word to be associated with this.

She paused to cough, choking on the blood trickling down the back of her throat. She tried to block out the racket of the crowded E.R. lobby, huddling closer to the phone. “I’m fine, Dad. I just need a ride home. The cab ride here took my last cubit.”

“What did—“

“I’ll be out front, Dad.” She replaced the receiver before he could finish his question.

******************

“You need to press charges, Laura.”

She held the ice pack to her nose, avoiding the two stitches on her cheek. “Dad, it would be in the papers then. I’d have to go to court, testify....I’m so close to getting a contract—I’ll be an assistant teacher forever if I start making enemies.”

“They won’t publish your name.”

The image of a hand with a huge class ring coming towards her face kept looping through her mind. “They’ll publish _his_ name, though. People knew we were going out. “

“And nobody told you the coach was a drunk and a woman beater?”

She shifted the ice pack. ”I don’t know if they knew.”

“Maybe if the last woman he did this to reported it, they _would_ ’ _ve_ known.”

She swallowed a sob, the faint popping in her ears making her head pound again. “Can we just go home, please? And not talk about this?”

She’d be back at her apartment in the morning, straightening the broken glass and mopping up the spilled wine. Tonight, though, she wanted the comfort of her old room, her dresser with its arrangement of old pictures and dusty perfume bottles, her old bed half-covered in stuffed animals. She was ready to wallow in safety for a night before stepping back into her tough adult world tomorrow.

She finally broke the silence that had settled between them. “The car looks great, Dad.”

She ran her hand over the dashboard and the gleaming wood trim. The seats creaked, as new leather will, and she wished she could have smelled it through the thick cotton in her nostrils. Even with all the refurbishing, it was still the car of her memories: she and her sisters, her mother at the wheel, their hair flying around their faces as they had laughed in the summer sun. And other times…

Her father seemed relieved at the change in topic. “Glad you think so, sweetheart. I was saving this for your birthday, but under the circumstances…I think we’ll call this an early present.”

She ran her fingers over the wooden gearshift. “Are you sure, Dad? This was your baby,” she teased.

She caught the sight of his fingers gripping the wheel, his arthritic knuckles standing out in sharp relief. “You’re my baby. And you’ll never have to call a damn cab again to get away from some asshole.”

The pain in her face was making her nauseous but she was not so distracted that her father’s swearing didn’t get her attention. “Dad…Daddy”—she put her hand over his—“I know this looks bad enough, but this is all there is. He didn’t…do anything else.”

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “I figured…I would hope you would’ve told me if he had.”

Her laugh was an ugly sharp bark. “That was what set him off. We’d had dinner, a couple of drinks, I was trying to get him to leave…and he didn’t like that.”

“So he punched you in the face?”

She leaned forward and tapped the speedometer. “Ease up, Dad.” Leaning back in the plush leather seat, she continued. “I think he punched me more over how I worded my rejection.”

When she told her father what she’d said, Mr. Roslin smiled for the first time since he’d answered her call. Laura finally started to relax, pain ebbing as she watched the Mustang gobble up the painted white lines that led towards home.  
  
A brightly lit marquee to her right caught her eye _. Adama Automotive Repair_ was still lit up, big bikes visible through the half-shut gates, a few men standing around a fire barrel talking and drinking.

“That’s where I got her fixed up. Bill did all this himself.”

None of the men she glimpsed had the right build to have been him. She closed her eyes in the dark, surprised by the fluttering reaction her body gave at the memory of his solid frame. She could almost feel the cool leather dashboard under her bare feet, seat pushed back and reclined as far as it would go…another thin trickle of blood down her throat brought her back to the present.

“How’s he doing?” She made her slightly choked voice as casual as she could manage.

“He stays busy. He and some other guys he knew during the War formed a motorcycle club. Did a charity ride last month for the children’s hospital.”

Bill Adama’s in a…motorcycle gang?”

She looked back but the bright sign was out of sight. She knew he had always wanted a Harley…he’d said it was the next best thing to a Viper for the planet-bound. She tried to picture him riding at the head of a group of bikers but all that came to mind were images from old movies.  

“Club, honey. It’s a motorcycle _club_. Mechanics and Harley enthusiasts.”

She was still picturing Bill Adama in leathers when her father pulled into their drive.

**************

Mr. Roslin waited until she was asleep, closing the garage door behind him as he dialed Sam Adama’s number from memory.

The Ha’la’tha enforcer was quiet at Mr. Roslin’s soft question.

“I’ve got too much heat on me right now, Mr. R. Ordinarily I’d say yes, but…hey, you know my nephew, right? Bill Adama? Doesn’t he work on your cars?”

“Yes, but I didn’t think he was….”

“He’s not, really, but he’d do this for you. For her.”

“How much?”

“Pro bono, man. With our respect .I’ll work out the details with Bill.”

“Sam, I don’t want Laura to ever know about this.”

“I’m sure Bill will feel the same way.”

******************

The Pyramid Captain of Persephone High was grumbling in third period study hall. “Coach is going to be out the rest of the season.  Says he dropped one of his weights on his hand, broke it in three places.”

“Bummer.”

“No shit. Then he ran face-first into the leg press while he was trying to get to the phone.”

The other boy grimaced. “Man, that musta hurt like frak.”

The soft scratching of chalk on the blackboard stopped. The assistant teacher darted a look at them over her shoulder.

“No talking, boys.”

“Yes, Miss Roslin.”

The two teens went back to their homework.

  
  


  



	14. Community Roots, Rotten

Originally posted by [](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/profile)[**fragrantwoods**](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/) at [Community Roots, Rotten](http://about-time.livejournal.com/211310.html)

Title: Community Roots, Rotten  
Author: [](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/profile)[ **fragrantwoods**](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/)  
Word Count: 1610  
Rating: M; Warnings: dub-con, sex  
For Team!Bill; uses the prompts "a battle ensues" and "bringing out the big guns"

Follows the following AU drabbles

[The Old Man, the Old Lady](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/368775.html) , [Running Late](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387740.html) .[If He'd Only Known...](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387991.html), [Presidential Abstinence](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/439867.html), [Driving Lessons](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/440161.html), ["Let Me Go Crazy"](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/442211.html), [Autumn Leaves](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77356.html), [Ivy Covered Hallowed Halls](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77703.html) , [Separate Lives](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/448079.html), [Dotted Line](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/78706.html), [Coming to the Table](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/78924.html), [Memories of Sweeter Days](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/79512.html), [Time Machine](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/79649.html) , ["Long and Low and Sleek and Fast"](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/82217.html) , [Anything for Love](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83334.html)

  


  


Bill tried to stare down the thick-necked man sitting across the carved table, but the sounds of crying and puking in the background kept distracting him. He wondered what kind of father could be so callus towards his own child, and told himself no matter what else happened, he’d be a protective father. He’d never expose his child to danger or shame.

Arlo Thorn seemed to have no problem ignoring his daughter’s sounds of distress, much as he’d had no problem ignoring her initial unease at taking her turn on the pole at his club. Bill had felt Carolanne’s embarrassed nervousness more than her father ever had, and at the time, he hadn’t regretted shelling out cubit after cubit to keep her at his table and away from sweaty grabbing hands.

He hadn’t regretted that decision until he saw her play another newcomer the same way six months later. The brimming blue eyes, the shaky smile that kept slipping….She had taken his bitter “You’re good” as a compliment, and her cool “It was just business, Bill” was the closest thing to an apology he’d ever get.

There were times he wondered how much of what came later had been at her father’s behest; the flirting, her frequent presence at the shop while Bill labored to ready it for opening. He got through those days by trying to reach the Carolanne he thought she might have been, before her father had put her to work. It was _that_ Carolanne to whom he had finally succumbed, her so lush and ready  and wanting after they had shared too many shots of tequila, him still broken after seeing, once again, the distance between his life and Laura’s.

Their lovemaking had almost been healing for both of them. He had entertained a brief hope that he could show her enough care, enough kindness to keep that side of Carolanne dominant. There were times when her sweetness was almost enough to sooth his old wounds, her acceptance of his new lifestyle a balm, when he stepped over another line. It wasn’t enough to wipe out the “might have been” thoughts of Laura, but it was something to hold onto when the waves of longing and memories crashed over him.

Bill had hoped that time with him would strengthen that part of Carolanne. Her out-of-control rage when he refused to take her in the freshly-restored back seat of Mr. Roslin’s Mustang shattered that hope, as she had shattered a beer bottle against the garage wall next to his head. She had seemed primed for battle ever since he had started working on Mr. Roslin’s car ( _Laura’s car,_ his mind whispered) with obvious reverence.

He had grabbed her wrist to keep her from throwing a wrench through the windshield, and she had grabbed his cock through his jeans as she had taunted him to do more, go further, make it hurt, frak her like a real man, not a sentimental pussy in love with a frakking _car_.

Still bleeding from slivers of brown broken glass, he’d let go then, all his bitterness ramping up his adrenalin as he shoved her cut-off jeans down with one hand and bent her over his workbench, taking her with rough desperation. Her obscene encouragement dwindled to moans and gasps as he worked her for his own pleasure until his orgasm hit, sharp and hard. As his last drops of come spurted inside her, he’d looked up at the emerald green Mustang and had hated himself for making the car an unwilling witness to this travesty of love-making.

Carolanne had not been around much since that night. He’d seen her a couple of times as she accompanied her father’s associates to the underground rooms below the garage. He retreated to his office those nights, not wanting to know what they were carrying.

The only bright spot over the past six weeks had been seeing Mr. Roslin’s delight with his restored car, and even that had been tainted for Bill when he thought of that night, wondering if a ghost of that scene might be still reflected in the gleaming polished surface. He had seized on his uncle’s request a couple of weeks later as a welcome penance.

Normally not a man to seek out a fight, Bill had reveled in every punch, every snap of bone he had delivered to the blustering high school coach. He told himself he was administering a rough justice, pushing his searing jealousy to the back of his mind. He had no right to be jealous over Laura Roslin, he told himself. _She wasn’t his and never would be_ was ringing in his head as he started on the coach’s face.

Bill stroked his abraded knuckles absently, trying to get past the memories of the past few weeks as Mr. Thorne talked, pausing occasionally to look up at the man standing next to him.

Bill’s eyes followed Thorn’s, flicking to the sag-jowled suburban lawman standing next to an empty chair, one hand on the back, not quite daring to take a seat. Sheriff Fisk looked embarrassed to be here...or maybe he was scared. Bill noted the increasing sweat rings darkening Fisk’s tan uniform under the arms and wondered how much he knew.

“Look, son, you’ve got a clean record, you’re a veteran…it’ll be a cakewalk.”

“It’s not my frakking cake. I’m not the one who decided to use Carolanne to transport stolen goods.”

He noticed the sheriff twitch at his words. Bill’s big hands toyed with the gavel, envisioning it going through the bridge of Thorn’s nose and into his brain. He noted idly that he was getting more used to violence against man rather than machine as time passed. “This is between you and her,” he continued.

“What about what’s between _you_ and her?” Stone-colored eyes narrowed to slits as Thorn gave Bill a grotesque mocking smile.

Stomach lurching, Bill felt all the small catastrophes of the past months pile on top of him like rocks, pressing his breath out of his lungs. “I’ll do right by Carolanne. But I’m not going to sit in a cell while my child’s being born.”

“You think it makes you a better man to stand aside and let your child be born in prison? What kind of care do you think she’ll get inside? You want her to go through labor handcuffed to a prison hospital bed?”

Bill studied the wood patterns in the gavel, shoulders slumping. The whorl of the grain looked like a whirlpool, sucking him down against his best efforts to swim away.

Fisk finally spoke up, voice wavering as he looked from Thorn to Bill. He fidgeted with his belt like he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands. His fingers strayed to his holster once, freezing when both Thorn and Bill tensed. Fresh sweat broke out on his forehead as he laughed nervously and raised his hand to wipe it away.

“See, Bill, Carolanne’s got a couple of priors.... Oh, she—she didn’t tell you that?” Fisk’s eyes shied away from Thorn’s glare.

“Now, I think things can be worked out with the district attorney…change the facts around a little in the police report about what was found where...Mr. Thorn’s attorney’ll tell me exactly how the report needs to read to clear Carolanne and not make it too hard on you.” Fisk grimaced. “Just bad luck the SBI got wind of the bust before I could get in to do more damage control. Stupid rookie didn’t know all dealings with Mr. Thorn’s business go through me first.” He looked at Thorn again, seeming to need assurance that he was pitching this right.

Thorn was nodding now. “Less than a year, Lampkin says. Closer to eight months if things go okay inside.”

The crying and retching noises from the other room had stopped. Bill could feel her hovering on the other side of the door, knew she was waiting on his answer.

He had barely finished a reluctant nod when Thorn spoke again, his smile lit with sadistic amusement. “One more thing, Adama…you’ll need to get married.”

Bill’s vision swam red as his stomach twisted again. “The _frak_ I do. I can take care of—“

He broke off mid-protest as the door to the chapel swung open. He knew it wouldn’t be Carolanne—not even _she_ had enough brass to come into this room uninvited. He took an immediate dislike to the well-dressed intruder as he saw him pause at the door and exchange nods and smiles with Thorn.

 “Can’t be compelled to testify against your wife, Adama.” The slender man in sunglasses strolled in like he owned the place, speaking with a grating false familiarity.  He flicked a business card on the table in front of Bill. “You can choose to do so…but…” Romo Lampkin looked over his glasses at Bill, nodding his head once at Thorn. “I wouldn’t advise it.”

Bill looked at the card, recognizing the name. He never thought the likes of Romo Lampkin would be representing him. It looked like Thorn was bringing out the big guns to sweeten the deal. It figured he wouldn’t trust Bill’s sense of responsibility towards his unborn child to guide his decision, that he’d have to add incentives and threats. Bill looked at each man in turn. Thorn’s face was implacable.  Fisk was almost mournful, like he still had a residual sense of right and wrong. Lampkin just seemed faintly amused by Bill’s protests, like he recognized it for the sound and fury it was, signifying nothing.

_Defeated._

Bill stared at the carvings in the table. “Get the frakking priest.”

He could feel barred doors slamming shut already.

  


  


  



	15.  “I’d Lie for You (and That’s The Truth)”

Originally posted by [](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/profile)[**fragrantwoods**](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/) at [“I’d Lie for You (and That’s The Truth)”](http://about-time.livejournal.com/216330.html)

Title: “I’d Lie for You (and That’s The Truth)”  
Author: [](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/profile)[ **fragrantwoods**](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/)  
Word Count: 2700  
For anniversary battleship (Team!Bill) includes prompt "mutiny"  
Follows the following AU drabbles

[The Old Man, the Old Lady](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/368775.html) , [Running Late](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387740.html) .[If He'd Only Known...](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387991.html), [Presidential Abstinence](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/439867.html), [Driving Lessons](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/440161.html), ["Let Me Go Crazy"](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/442211.html), [Autumn Leaves](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77356.html), [Ivy Covered Hallowed Halls](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77703.html) , [Separate Lives](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/448079.html), [Dotted Line](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/78706.html), [Coming to the Table](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/78924.html), [Memories of Sweeter Days](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/79512.html), [Time Machine](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/79649.html) , ["Long and Low and Sleek and Fast"](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/82217.html) , [Anything for Love](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83334.html) , [Community Roots, Rotten](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83592.html)

  
  


“You sure you want to do this?”

Bill stared out the windshield and wished he had come alone. But that would have posed a problem later….

“I’m sure.”

Lampkin gave him the side-eye over the rim of his glasses. “Keep a watch on what comes out of your mouth, Adama. Be a pity, your old love called to the stand to testify against you.” His smirk turned to alarm as Bill wrapped a big paw around his right wrist.

“I thought you said it would never get to that point.”

“Get your hand off my wrist or you _will_ get a trial instead of a deal, Adama. And trust me, you don’t want that.” He shook his wrist after Bill let go. “Just breaking your balls a little, mate. Didn’t know you were so sensitive. Would have thought big war heroes like you could take a little ribbing.”

Bill looked at the slick little attorney with the permanent sneer for a few minutes in silence, watching his mouth twitch like there was more he wanted to say.

“Lampkin, do you have a problem with veterans? That’s not the first crack like that you’ve made.”

“Oh, no…Great Lords of Kobol, why would I have any problems with veterans? I didn’t mind being bumped from the best law school on Libran because a Cylon War vet got preference. Or taking out loans at three percentage points higher interest because I didn’t fight in the Great War.” All of Lampkin’s carefully cultivated affability dropped away as his tone grew increasingly bitter. “Got your girlie’s daddy to thank for that.”

Bill almost missed the last part as he struggled with his temper. He could see why Thorn and Lampkin got along…both had contempt for the men and women who had fought the Cylons, begrudging every dime spent on veterans’ benefits.

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Lampkin arched an eyebrow. “Your old girlfriend never told you Mr. Roslin spearheaded the push in the Ministry of Education to get special educational benefits for vets? Right thorn in the side of the Defense Department, too, he was.” He grinned, thin-lipped and mean. “Of course, the Defense Department have their own Thorns, as it were.” He drew his eyebrows together with mock seriousness. “Costs must be contained, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Adama? After all, the war’s been over for years.”

Blue eyes flashing, Bill glared at his lawyer. “Why didn’t you fight, Lampkin? You’re of an age that you should have served.”

Lampkin laughed. “You boys were doing splendidly without me. By the time I was of an age to serve, my doctor said I had a bum ticker. Nothing for it but to watch from the sidelines.”

“Would you be so Godsdamned smug if we had lost?”

“Half the reason I turned to the study of law, mate. Cockroaches and lawyers…we can survive anything.”

“My father was a lawyer. He wasn’t anything like you. He was a public defender.”

“Oh, so you come by your white knight complex honestly, then.”

Bill looked at him in a mix of fury and amazement. “How is it nobody has beaten the shit out of you?”

Lampkin laughed again. “I only goad people who need me really, really badly. Like I said, mate…I’m a survivor.”

**********************

Laura folded and unfolded her napkin, then firmly folded it closed one last time when she realized she was fidgeting. It had been so long since she’d seen Bill in the flesh, although pictures of him had accompanied every move she’d made over the years.

And so had the memories. She’d chided herself for being a foolish romantic even as she’d gone out to her father’s vintage car after he’d gone to bed, sitting in the back seat with her head tilted back and her eyes closed, remembering.

 She had felt the sense of a thick body, broad-chested and slicked with summer sweat hovering over her, close enough to taste, felt the gathering of sensation between her legs, making her swollen and liquid. She’d itched to put the top down but the quiet of the night precluded making that much noise. When she drove it back to her place, though, she’d put it down, reveling in the wind whipping through her hair as she shifted through the gears, smooth and clean.

She’d had three orgasms that night, imagining her slim fingers being replaced by thick callused ones that knew exactly how to touch and tease her until she was flying apart. She couldn’t replicate the other things he’d done, though…there was no substitute for the strong arms that had held her so tenderly, the gentle kisses feathering at her temples and throat. She had enjoyed a couple of sex partners over the years…but she hadn’t had a _lover_ since Bill Adama, and that realization kept dancing on the surface of her consciousness as she fell asleep.

She had still been working up her nerve to call him, compliment him on the restoration, see where that went, when her phone rang. She thought it was almost like they had a connection that could stretch over time and space without breaking. Of _course_ she was happy to hear from him. Of _course_ she could meet him for lunch.

She had rearranged her apartment after the incident with her former co-worker. After Bill’s call, she opened the dresser drawer that held a picture of them, taken towards the end of that summer. His arm had been around her and he had been grinning that goofy grin he showed when he was really happy and carefree. She finally set it on the bookcase across from her front door. It would be the first thing he would see when he walked into her apartment.

She couldn’t wait to see where that would lead. She couldn’t wait to see him. His feel, his touch, even his smell was so clear in her mind. She motioned the waiter to bring her some more water and checked her watch again. He’d be here any minute...and they could start on restoring what they’d had together.

***************************************

 Bill could feel the impression of his cheap new ring through his pocket. The even tan of his fingers hadn’t been marred yet by its presence.

“I have to say, Bill, your call really surprised me.” She glowed in the late morning sun, a flake of croissant on her upper lip until she licked it off, driving him another step towards crazy.

“Your dad said you’d settled in Caprica City. I figured we were finally in the same place at the same time.”

Laura stroked her hair behind one ear. “We’ve been in the same place before. My last year of school, remember?”

He grinned in spite of his creeping blush. “You saw me that time?”

“When you were leaving. I spent the next few months wondering why you’d left.” Deep green eyes pulled at him to explain, old leftover trust from years ago still shining there. He wondered what would be left of that trust once all his truths came out. He knew he was making things worse by being here, by seeing her like this, every word out of his mouth a lie. He was unrepentantly selfish about this one last chance to see her, skating over his past discomfort at seeing their lives diverge. He could go back to his responsibilities, he could bear anything, if he could just have these few hours.

They talked as other diners came and went, shadows growing longer. She touched the back of his hand. They both smiled, remembering when a touch like that had meant the world. They laughed some, shared a couple of silences. Bill talked more about her than himself, steering the conversation away from treacherous topics. Her probing looks, the occasional quirked eyebrow told him she knew there were words going unsaid. Her half-smile told him she could accept that, for now.

He encouraged her to apply for a senior teaching position at a school across town. Told her she could do so much more that be an assistant teacher. Told her she didn’t have to settle for less than the best. And if she noticed that he got a bit choked up at the last part, she didn’t mention it out loud.

As they were talking about how the Cylon War should be presented in high school history classes, Bill saw her frown past his shoulder. He could feel his brief escape coming to an end as he turned to see what she was looking at: a slender man in sunglasses loitering outside the plate-glass window, checking his watch and peering in at the table for two, plates now empty.

Bill studied her face like he was trying to memorize each curve, each plane. They both fell silent as Bill took her hand, kissing each knuckle.  He slowly shook his head at her invitation to see her new apartment.

“I have an appointment. Maybe another time.” His smile didn’t match his wistful eyes as he turned and walked away. He could feel her puzzled glance following him.

**************

The smell of disinfectant, cigarettes and old sweat permeated the chipping paint in the shabby jail. A bored deputy fumbled with paperwork as Lampkin leaned impatiently over the counter. “My client is here to turn himself in, and I’d like his processing to start sooner rather than later, officer. Do you…would you like me to help with that?” He gestured with artifical helpfulness as the deputy pecked at the keyboard of the grimy terminal. The deputy glared at Lampkin, and then at Bill.

“Your client in that much of a hurry to get inside, Mr. Lampkin?”

Lampkin turned to Bill. “Better not to languish in Holding,” he explained. “Soonest begun, soonest done, as they say.”

At directions from the officer, Bill emptied his pockets on the counter. Lampkin smirked at the discarded ring. “I’ll make it my personal responsibility to make sure this gets to your bride safe and sound. As for why it was in your pocket…tell you what, Adama…I’ll consider the events of the day to be covered under attorney-client privilege, if you like. Favor to you, you might say, for showing me just how muddy the clay feet of war heroes can be.”

The officer stood impatiently at the electronic door, pointing towards the painted footsteps with an irritated gesture. Bill started towards the door, then turned back towards Lampkin.

“I appreciate you keeping today to yourself. You should know, though, that doesn’t change my opinion of you.” His voice was low and bitter. “You’re a coward and a whore for the law, and I think you get off on seeing other people’s misery. I can’t believe good men and women fought and died for people like you.”

Lampkin grinned wide, showing his eyeteeth. “And yet, they did. You did your best, and here you stand, while I go home to my wife. Funny system, isn’t it?” He turned and walked out into the waiting fresh air.

Bill looked away from the chipped walls and the painted footprints, willing himself to see Laura again, afternoon sun turning her hair to reddish-gold as his fingers were rolled in ink.

************************************

The hurt had become a familiar part of her. She even kept their picture up on her bookcase. She thought seeing it every evening would drive home that the past was past, that her feelings could be contained in a 4 x 7 inch frame. Instead, it served as a daily nudge in his direction.

She returned the Mustang to her father after she had banked enough paychecks to put a down payment on a newer car with better mileage. She needed something better on gas, she had told him. The Mustang…it just took too much.

It took too much out of her when she saw Bill’s handiwork in every inch, and still couldn’t fathom why he’d sought her out, then disappeared from her life again. It took up too much space in her memories. Even silent, under a tarp in her father’s garage, she could almost hear the motor humming, encouraging her heart to mutiny against her good sense. Most trips to visit her Dad, she was able to push back with rational thought and her sense of pride.

The day came when the mutinous feelings won out.

She dropped hints about how long it had been since the car had been driven, the need to winterize the engine, and her father had finally asked her to go ahead and get the car serviced. She had been puzzled at his naming of several repair shops in town, suggesting that she might want to choose someone closer to her side of the city, or maybe one of the big chains. She had taken the cards he handed her, tossing them in the passenger seat next to her purse. No matter why he had acted so strangely after their lunch date, she couldn’t imagine trusting anyone else with something so dear to her. She pointed the Mustang towards Bill’s garage and let the horses run.

She wouldn’t be pushy, she thought. She wasn’t looking for an explanation…she was just doing her dad a favor, taking the old Mustang in for a tune-up. Change the oil, flush the radiator… _maybe ask what had happened, why he’d been so kind, eyes full of promises, and then disappear for months_. Hope and dread fluttered in her gut as she parked and headed for the office door with “Adama Automotive Repair” in white gilt-edged letters across the glass.

The woman behind the desk opened her iridescent eyelids slowly, the leather-vested man behind her continuing to massage her neck and shoulders. Laura got the slightly creepy feeling that she was interrupting something as the man smirked at her over the woman’s head.

“Can I help you?” the blonde drawled.

“I was looking for Bill Adama. I—my father asked me to bring in his car.”

The man in the leather vest feigned an innocent grin and kept his eyes on Laura as he ran an insolent finger under the lace neckline of the woman in the chair. She reached up to halt his touch as she arched her eyebrow, lips curved in a sardonic half-smile. “Your daddy tell you to ask for Bill by name?”

Laura bristled at the tone. “My father is particular about who works on his cars.” More particular that Bill apparently was about hiring staff, she thought to herself.

“Well, sweetheart, Bill’s not available, but I’ve got several mechanics here that are just as good.” The man behind her chuckled and squeezed her shoulder.

“I can come back later. This doesn’t have to be done today.” Laura took in the inch of dark roots, the low-cut blouse, the intimate vibe between the woman and the guy with “Tom” on his name patch.

She hoped this woman wasn’t actually doing the bookkeeping. Or any of the other things she’d imagined doing for Bill when their dreams were new and their future stretched out before them.

The woman got to her feet. A gold band was on the hand she rested on her swelling belly. “Unless you want to wait another six months, you should give Tom a try. He’s not Bill”—a sly smile—“but he’s not bad.”

Laura’s eyes dropped to the front of the desk and felt her world jitter beneath her feet. The thought that this couldn’t be happening reverberated in her head as she quietly said, “I’ll try another shop, thanks.”

She turned before the woman behind the nameplate reading “Carolanne Adama” could see her tears.

******************               

_Five months later:_

_Hands increasingly gnarled by arthritis hold out a plain envelope, photographs and cash peeking out the top._

_Younger hands take the envelope, tucking it away under a summer guard’s shirt, the short sleeves revealing the faded outline of a Viper._

_A whisper in the dim that passes for night inside: “Hey, Husker. Something from a friend on the outside,” before hushed footsteps move away from his cell._

_He runs his fingers over the edges of the photographs over and over, waiting patiently for sunrise._

_Waiting to see his son._

  


  


  



	16. Shame at the Gates

Originally posted by [](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/profile)[**fragrantwoods**](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/) at [Shame at the Gates](http://about-time.livejournal.com/220488.html)

  


Shame at the Gates  
author: [](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/profile)[ **fragrantwoods**](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/)  
Word Count: 516  
Rating: T  
Follows the following AU drabbles

[The Old Man, the Old Lady](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/368775.html) , [Running Late](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387740.html) .[If He'd Only Known...](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387991.html), [Presidential Abstinence](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/439867.html), [Driving Lessons](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/440161.html), ["Let Me Go Crazy"](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/442211.html), [Autumn Leaves](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77356.html), [Ivy Covered Hallowed Halls](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77703.html) , [Separate Lives](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/448079.html), [Dotted Line](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/78706.html), [Coming to the Table](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/78924.html), [Memories of Sweeter Days](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/79512.html), [Time Machine](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/79649.html) , ["Long and Low and Sleek and Fast"](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/82217.html) , [Anything for Love](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83334.html) , [Community Roots, Rotten](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83592.html),  [I'd Lie for You(and That's the Truth)](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83867.html)

  
  


“I didn’t expect to see you here.” He looked lean and cut, hair cropped short. He wasn’t smiling.

“Dad’s out of town. He asked me to…take care of this for him.”

Laura’s eyes flicked from him to the chain-link fence, the razor wire, the observation posts. She jumped at an amplified bark of, “Clear the gate!” as Bill Adama walked too slowly towards her, both pretending to themselves their last meeting, that treacherous lunch date, had never really happened

“Who’s been taking care of your ride?” He looked warily at the green Mustang, attempting a thin smile.

“Different shops…I haven’t found any that I really like.”

_But she would have tried his place first. Gods knew what she’d walked in on._

He finally looked at her as she removed her grey jacket, showing tanned arms and a red tank top. She slid across the seat, leaning and stretching to unlock his door. The naked curve of her underarm was the most erotic sight he’d seen in eight months, twelve days.

“You’re coming back to me.”

Her eyes jerked up at the rumbling rusty voice and he groaned inside. “I’d like for you to start bringing your ‘stang back to my shop, if you haven’t found a…better mechanic.”

She kept her eyes on the road. “It’s not really my car anymore. I bought something new for myself a few months ago. But you taking care of this…I’ll ask Dad about it. It’s his car, after all.”

“Laura, if I’d known your Dad was away, I’d have worked something out. You didn’t have to do this.”

She merged smoothly onto the highway, leaving the prison behind. “It’s fine, Bill. I would’ve gotten here sooner, but work ran late.”

She didn’t ask why his wife hadn’t come. He didn’t offer any explanation. He scrambled for neutral words to fill the void.

“Yeah, I see you got that senior teaching position. You look…teachery.”

She finally offered a weak smile. “Where am I taking you?”

“My grandma’s place…you remember where she lives?”

“Sure. Not going straight home, then?” Her right hand downshifted harder than she’d meant to. ”I would have thought you’d be anxious to get back to your family.”

He closed his eyes as the wind rushed past his face. _She knows,_ he thought. _She knows about my marriage; she knows about my son. Or at least she thinks she does._ He wondered if her father had told her the rest of the story. He realized he hoped he hadn’t. Neither of them needed any more false hope dangled in front of them. His ears burned as he thought about the lunch date and wondered if she’d had a chance to do the math, wondered if she had figured out he’d been married when he called that day.

He realized she was glancing over at him, clearly expecting a response. He took a deep breath and told the truth.

“Carolanne says she needs more time to get things ready…still adjusting to motherhood.”

Shame and pain erected walls harder than steel and stone between them.

He wished he’d never met her.

  


  


  



	17. One Wing in the Fire

Originally posted by [](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/profile)[**fragrantwoods**](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/) at [One Wing in the Fire](http://about-time.livejournal.com/221341.html)

Title: One Wing in the Fire  
Author: [](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/profile)[ **fragrantwoods**](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/)  
Word Count: 1120  
Rating: T warnings: mentions of suicide, PTSD

Follows the following AU drabbles

[The Old Man, the Old Lady](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/368775.html) , [Running Late](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387740.html) .[If He'd Only Known...](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387991.html), [Presidential Abstinence](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/439867.html), [Driving Lessons](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/440161.html), ["Let Me Go Crazy"](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/442211.html), [Autumn Leaves](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77356.html), [Ivy Covered Hallowed Halls](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77703.html) , [Separate Lives](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/448079.html), [Dotted Line](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/78706.html), [Coming to the Table](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/78924.html), [Memories of Sweeter Days](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/79512.html), [Time Machine](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/79649.html) , ["Long and Low and Sleek and Fast"](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/82217.html) , [Anything for Love](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83334.html) , [Community Roots, Rotten](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83592.html),  [I'd Lie for You(and That's the Truth)](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83867.html),  [Shame at the Gate](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/84345.html)

  
  


The sullen young teenager sat in front of her desk, eye swelling shut and as stone-faced as his father.

“Is this gonna take long? I gotta get my little brother off the bus.”

Laura straightened her new glasses and practiced her “daggers-over-the-rim” look. “It’ll take as long as it needs to, young man. I’ve heard Kozart’s side, now I want to hear yours.”

“I tripped.”

“Lee, knock it off, please. Two teachers saw you and Kozart talking, then yelling, then they saw you punch him.”

He shrugged. “You know what happened, then.”

She took her glasses off and rested them against the desk plaque that read “Laura Roslin, Principal”. On days like this, she wished it bore another name and she was back in a classroom again.

“Shall I call your mother and ask her to come in to help you explain?”

_Please, by the Sacred Scrolls, don’t make me call Carolanne Adama over this_ , she silently begged. Her head was about to explode as it was. Lee Adama’s look said that he found that idea as unpleasant as she did. His tough guy act dwindled a hair and he started to talk.

“Kozart was ragging me about my old man, Miss Roslin. Saying he was a no-good thug and a jailbird.” For a minute, Lee looked like the six year old Bill had walked into school on his first day seven years ago, shy and wishing he was anywhere but here.  He slowly pulled his bluster back around him like a worn coat.

“He doesn’t know anything about my Dad.”

“Is your father in prison again, Lee?”

The teen’s head jerked at that. “What the heck do you mean, “again”?”

“Sorry, Lee…I misspoke. Is your father in prison?”

He looked down at his feet. “Yeah, he’s upstate. Three counts of assault on a government official.”

“Your father? That doesn’t sound like him.”

He tried a smirk that was too big for his face. “Maybe you don’t know my old man as well as you think.” His smirk slipped and he looked at her with ill-disguised curiosity. “My mom says you and him might’ve had a thing, back in the day.”

“That’s enough, Lee. I want you in my office first thing tomorrow. I’ll let you know what your consequences are then.”

He gave her a surprised look. “You’re not going to suspend me?”

_He looks so young_ , she thought. _How much of his life is his father going to miss?_

“I haven’t decided yet. We’ll talk in the morning.”

The boy got up, his steps unusually slow to her door. She watched his lips tighten as he reached for the doorknob.

“Lee? Is there something else that you needed to talk about?”

“No…no ma’am. Just, if you had a thing for my Dad, now’s your chance. My Mom filed divorce papers on him this week.”

“Oh, Lee…I’m so sorry to hear that.” She got up, wanting to reassure him that everything would be all right, then stopped, uncertain whether she had any right whatsoever to do that. His mother was a nightmare and his father was in prison…who was she to tell him anything would be all right? _Godsdamnit_ , she thought. _Why wasn’t Bill here for his kids?_

_*******************_

“Why is he in prison instead of looking after his boys…that’s what I want to know. I never thought he’d be so cavalier.”

Mr. Roslin frowned at his eldest daughter. “Bill had bad luck, but I wouldn’t say he was cavalier.”

“Oh, Dad, you were always such a “Bill Adama” fan. How can you keep that up now? This is the second time he’s been put in prison.”

“Honey, did the boy tell you the details?”

She tapped her fork against her mother’s best china that her father had started using for everyday.

“No, and I wasn’t going to interrogate a thirteen-year old about that.”

Her father crossed his knife and fork over the remains of his steak. “You realize what he got caught up in?”

She sliced off another bite of meat. “No, and I don’t really—“

“It was the VA riots last year,” her father interrupted.

She put her fork back down. “Oh, Gods….”

Hundreds of Cylon War veterans had marched on the Capitol to protest cuts in education and mental health benefits for the men and women who had served in the War. Money needed to go towards upgrading the defense department mainframes, the government said. A young and callous scientist, Dr. Gaius Baltar, offered the opinion that many of the still-suffering veterans had created their own problems by turning to booze and drugs and waved away suggestions that a lack of mental health care was behind the increased suicide rate among vets.

The discourse had been relatively civil until groups of suicide survivors began arriving to the march, escorted by a network of the more prominent motorcycle clubs on Caprica. Three pregnant sisters and daughters of suicided veterans had been making their way to the podium when Dr. Baltar had flippantly remarked that the vets who claimed Post Traumatic Stress Disorder just needed someone to slap them back to reality.

The Colonial Guard had to be called in to restore even a semblance of order after the crowd heard that.

“Bill was in that?”

“Bill was in the group escorting the pregnant family members. One of the Colonial Guard hit one of the women in the face while restraining her.”

“Dad, that’s horrible!”

“Apparently Bill thought so, too. It took three Guardsmen to take him down.”

“So that’s the “three charges of assault on a government official”?” Her eyes shone with outrage. “How could he have…wasn’t there any defense?”

Her father refilled her wine glass with a shaking hand. “Romo Lampkin pulled out as his attorney at the last minute. Said it had become a conflict of interest for him to represent Bill. The Judge wouldn’t wait for Bill to find a new attorney.”

Laura cocked her head at her father, looking past his increased frailty to the spark in his fading green eyes. “Dad, why do you know so much about this?”

“I’ve known the Adama family a long time, honey.”

She started clearing the dishes. _This would have been a good evening for her sisters to have stopped by,_ she thought. She loved it when her father started opening up, sharing things from the past. He didn’t do it anywhere near often enough.

“You never told me, Dad…how did you know the Adama family?”

He looked at his plate a long minute, then up at his daughter.

“The first year I taught school, I skipped around the grades, like you did at first, assisting here, subbing there….” He sighed. “Before the tragedy, I taught the first William Adama.”

  


  


  



	18. Outreach

Originally posted by [](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/profile)[**fragrantwoods**](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/) at [Outreach](http://about-time.livejournal.com/234387.html)

Title: Outreach  
author: [](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/profile)[ **fragrantwoods**](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/)  
Word Count:2600  
Rating: M ( a bit of smut and infidelity)  
Prompts used: happy anniversary,this time last year,celebration,make-up sex, bringing out the big guns  
Follows the following AU drabbles

[The Old Man, the Old Lady](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/368775.html) , [Running Late](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387740.html) .[If He'd Only Known...](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387991.html), [Presidential Abstinence](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/439867.html), [Driving Lessons](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/440161.html), ["Let Me Go Crazy"](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/442211.html), [Autumn Leaves](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77356.html), [Ivy Covered Hallowed Halls](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77703.html) , [Separate Lives](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/448079.html), [Dotted Line](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/78706.html), [Coming to the Table](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/78924.html), [Memories of Sweeter Days](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/79512.html), [Time Machine](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/79649.html) , ["Long and Low and Sleek and Fast"](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/82217.html) , [Anything for Love](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83334.html) , [Community Roots, Rotten](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83592.html),  [I'd Lie for You(and That's the Truth)](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83867.html),  [Shame at the Gate](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/84345.html) ,  ["One Wing in the Fire"](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/84582.html)

  


  


  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/fragrantwoods/pic/0001thhd/)

“Is there a lot of paperwork involved?” Laura asked her father as they cleared the dishes.

“Not too bad. I’ll put in a call, see how much can be handled by fax.” The twinkle in his eyes told Laura this business would be accomplished sooner rather than later.

By Sunday, Mr. Roslin was calling his daughter with the good news. She had been put on Bill Adama’s visiting list. She tried not to think what Bill’s reaction would have been to seeing her request. She hoped the warden had offered some explanation that didn’t sound too… _personal_. She tried to keep the mental picture of a sad-eyed blustering boy growing up too fast in her mind, but his father’s deep blue eyes and rugged face kept slipping through as she tossed and turned her way to sleep.

*******************

“Lee, I’ve given a lot of thought about how to handle your fighting.”

The defiant glare was back, at sharp contrast to his slightly quivering chin. “Well, do what you gotta do, Miss Roslin.”

She took in the unnatural redness of his left ear. He’d had a rough weekend, it looked like. _Time to put him out of his misery._

“I want you to write a thousand words on this theme.” She handed him a notecard, printed in her neat teacher’s hand: _My Father’s in Prison and…._

He flicked it back across her desk, his eyes giving her a wounded look as he mumbled a “frak that!” under his breath. She calmly handed it back and continued.

“I want you to think about how kids and parents can feel like family under those circumstances, Lee. And it’s not just meant to be a consequence. I’m interested in what I…what the school can do to help kids like you and your brother while a parent is incarcerated.”

He slowly picked up the card and looked at it again. “I don’t know what I’d write. I try not to think about it, just pretend he’s on a long run somewhere.” A few more bits of armor fell off his guarded look.

She took a deep breath, reminding herself that her superintendent had supported this idea.

“I got permission to take you and your brother to visit your Dad upstate on the teacher work day this week, if your mother says it’s okay. I thought that might help you with your assignment.”

Painful hope flared in the boy’s eyes as he rolled the card into a tube, then flattened it again. “I could get to visit my Dad? I haven’t seen”—he broke off as his eyes clouded again. “I don’t know if my Mom’s gonna go for that.”

“Let’s see, shall we? Is it okay if I call her?” Her hand hovered over her desk phone. She was dying to get the call over with, but Lee knew better than she did what he’d walk into when he got home this afternoon. His still-flushed ear warned her to let this boy have his say before she interfered with his home life.

“Yeah…maybe she wouldn’t mind us being outa her hair for a few hours. Beats us hanging around the house getting on her nerves.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes then and her heart felt like it was being squeezed with a bony fist.

*****************

The call went better than she expected. Carolanne’s vitriol towards her soon-to-be ex-husband was no match for her undisguised happiness at having her sons out of the house on a day school wasn’t in session. Laura wondered if she’d had any plans for them other than letting them hang around the house. If Carolanne had been surprised that Laura already had visiting paperwork in order, she didn’t show it. An ugly thought ran through her mind, that maybe Carolanne hadn’t even checked into putting herself and her ( _their)_ boys on Bill’s list.

Carolanne’s voice had been half-thick with sleep when she had answered.

“If that’s what you think would keep Lee from getting in more trouble, Mrs. Roslin—oops! Sorry, I keep forgetting you never married.…Yeah, I didn’t think the boys should see their father behind bars, trying to talk to him through those windows and phones, but I’m sure you know best.” Laura could hear the muffling of a hand being cupped over the receiver as a masculine snort sounded in the background.

“Yeah, they’ll be ready. It’s, what, about ninety minutes to the prison? If you could keep the boys until nine o’clock or so, that’d be great.”

Laura bit her tongue at the veiled request to baby-sit Lee and Zak all day. “Thanks, Mrs. Adama. I think it’ll be good for Lee.”

“Yeah, I bet. Let him see what happens to losers. And it’s Ms. Thorn, if you don’t mind. I’m taking my maiden name back a little early. Got my reputation to think about.”

Laura said a non-committal good-bye, ignoring the muffled guffaw in the background as she hung up the phone far more gently than she wanted.

****************

Lee and Zak displayed surprisingly good manners on the way to the prison. Nervous at first, especially Zak, the boys quickly became absorbed in the details of the vintage Mustang and the roar of the engine. Lee asked with almost heart-breaking shyness if he could look in the glove compartment for the manual. Once Laura had granted permission, he had pored over the details of the engine’s workings, reading select passages out loud to his bored brother, who more interested in passing scenery than the faded book.

The ninety minutes went by too fast. The prison was looming in front of her before she had fully prepared her opening remarks, her justification of why she had come. This time last year, she had just been the school principal, mixed with a sprinkle of “fondly remembered but no longer relevant old love”. She saw Bill a couple of times a year at school functions, and by tacit agreement, they never talked about his first stint in prison and that disastrous meeting the day of his release.

_Or the evening three years later...._

She had been drinking too much in a semi-seedy bar right on the dividing line between the last decent neighborhood in her part of Caprica City, and the neighborhoods where cops weren't welcomed unless they had ties with certain families. She’d wanted to get away from everyone who might recognize her, the anniversary of her mother’s death hitting her harder than usual as she watched her father shut himself away in his study after a subdued family dinner. Her sisters had gone to their homes, but something made her ask through the closed study door if she could go for a drive before returning to her lonely apartment. She was sure she’d heard a “yes”. That had been at least three drinks ago.

A hand that had dwarfed the glass of cranberry juice it held had appeared out of nowhere. “Is this seat taken?”

She had looked up into bright blue eyes, weathered wrinkles starting to surround them.

********************

**Ten years earlier…**

“Well, well…Bill Adama. Fancy meeting you here.” A little voice in the back of her head told her she was slurring her words a bit but she ignored it. She had been getting good at ignoring those little warning voices.

He gave her an easy grin, white crooked teeth showing against tanned skin. He looked so much like that old picture she had never gotten around to taking down from her bookshelf, it made her heart hurt.

“I saw your ride outside, thought I’d see if it was you or your Dad slumming in here.” He set the glass down and pulled out a chair.

“What’s this?” She frowned at the glass and its bright red contents.

He motioned towards the empty glasses on the table. “Looked like it was time somebody switched to juice or water.” He slid the glass towards her. “I hate doing bodywork on vintage models.”

She snorted but took the glass and drank the tart juice. “Like I’d set foot in _Adama Automotive_ again. Your office manager doesn’t care much for me, and the feeling is mutual, believe me.”

Bill looked away, rubbing his ring absently. “Carolanne doesn’t spend much time at the shop anymore. New prospect, a kid named Helo is in the front office now. Better fit for the work.”

Laura felt her alcohol buzz starting to slip away as she sipped on a fresh glass of water Bill had summoned with a nod at the waitress. Thoughts of a past birth announcement in the Caprican Times slipped into her thoughts unbidden. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

He flushed but couldn’t keep proud smile off his face. “Zachary Adama. He’s three months old today.” Apparently taking her quirked eyebrows as an invitation, he pulled out his wallet crammed with pictures of a chubby baby and a sturdy toddler.

She ran a finger over the pictures, charmed that the rough biker would have so many shots of his children with him. She noticed all were of the boys…not a single shot of their mother was in the stack. She frowned, then made a show of counting on her fingers.

“They’re beautiful, Bill. And by the way…happy anniversary.” She gave him a lop-sided smirk.

“What do you…oh, nine plus three, right?”

She fluttered her fingers at him. “Why are you really here, Bill? Bar-hopping seems an odd way of celebrating the anniversary of your son’s conception.”

He did some subtle signal with his eyes that brought the waitress back with a tall draft beer and two more glasses of ice water. “Like I said, I saw your Dad’s baby and thought I’d stop.”

“Bullshit. That’s like me believing I’m really here only because the anniversary of Mom’s passing got me down.”

His face softened. “I’m sorry, Laura. She was a wonderful woman. How’s your Dad doing?”

“He still hurts on days like today. It’s hard on him.” She looked at the thick-fingered hand now resting on her wrist, then up at his face. His sympathy was starting to break through her carefully constructed shell. She braced herself: time to bring out the big guns.

“I don’t think _your wife_ would appreciate you touching another woman, buying her drinks and being so friendly, Bill. Shouldn’t you be home, celebrating”—she paused, muzzily realizing the alcohol hadn’t left her system enough for her to be her usual prudent self, and not caring—“that which brought that adorable child into being?” She was unreasonably proud of the drunken elegance of that remark, and that thought started a giggling fit that left her pink-faced and hiccupping.

“Here, swallow nine times, real fast.” He handed her the water.

Her giggles worsened through the hiccups. “That’s what _he_ said!” Her giggles slowed as she sipped and watched his face turn dark. She swallowed fast, the hiccupping finally stopping along with the laughter. An uncomfortable silence settled over the table.

“I’m sorry, Bill. I’m not usually…I’ve been going through a—a bad break-up. It’s made me a little crazy.”

He got that scary air around him that reminded her of how much he’d changed. “He do anything to you?”

She sighed. “No…just wasn’t right for me. We weren’t right for each other. I just…don’t have much luck in that department, it seems.”

“Tell me about it.” He looked grimmer than he should have, for a man with a growing family.

“Bill?” The years fell away and he was the young warrior again, looking a little lost in post-war peace, and she was the girl who’d had so much faith and trust in him.

At first she thought he’d stay silent, that old stoicism coming over him as it had the day she’d picked him up from prison. His hand moved from her arm to the back of her hand, drawing Tauron symbols with his index finger.

“I’ve had to be away a lot for work. Side jobs I’ve contracted. Carolanne….” He wouldn’t meet her eyes. Laura flashed back to a cocksure tough in club colors, mouth curled in a permanent smirk.  

“Carolanne..?” she prompted.

“One of my guys went nomad after she got pregnant with Zak. Like he took it personal or something.”

“Was it a guy named Tom?” She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. The last thing she needed to be doing was starting problems in Bill’s life at this stage.

She expected anger, maybe even rage, and watched his jawline, looking for telltale clenching. She was not expecting the slight easing of his shoulders, his clear-eyed look at her.

“What makes you say that? On second thought, I probably don’t want to know.” He shrugged. “Carolanne…she can’t help what she is. What she isn’t. She’s been kind of a mess since he left.”

Laura tilted her head, examining the man in front of her. “Don’t you resent the frak out of that?”

He gave her a rueful grin. “Maybe I know how she feels.”

Her head was fully clear as he walked her to her ( _their)_ car. She knew exactly what she was doing when she let him slide behind the wheel and handed him the keys. And when he raised his eyebrows in question at the graveled entrance to the lake park a few miles down the road, she nodded with full knowledge of what was going to happen, her lips already parting in anticipation.

Panties on the floorboard beside the discarded condom wrapper, seat pushed all the way back, she welcomed him into her core as she gave him her heart a final time. Half make-up sex after their last bitter parting, half a last farewell to old lost love. As the sweat dried on their sticky skin, their well of words went dry.

She took the keys without asking, stuffing her panties down deep into her purse and pulling down the skirt of her summer dress. They didn’t speak on the way back to his bike, where he’d parked it at the dark edge of the bar’s lot. Bill rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, dropping a kiss between her knuckles. She wondered if he was worried at all that Carolanne would smell another woman’s scent on him…wondered if he cared.

_Maybe not_ , she thought, as he bent through her window to kiss her thoroughly before he left. Her fingers had stayed on her lips for a long time after he put his helmet on and roared off into the night.

She started the mental process of shifting her self-image to that of a woman capable of frakking a married man, turning that notion over and over as she felt her personal paradigm shift off-center. She wondered if it would stay that way; wondered if she’d just crossed a personal Rubicon into strange territory that she’d now have to make her own. She looked after the disappearing bike, red taillights finally blinking out of sight.

She put the convertible’s ragtop down under the flickering parking lot lights. Turning the key, she headed back to her father’s house, hoping the night air would blast the sex scents out of the car before she parked it in her father’s garage and headed back to her sterile apartment. For having done something so bad, she felt surprisingly good.

*********************

“I have sensitive skin,” she answered Lee as he asked why her face had gotten so red.

The Mustang joined the line of cars waiting to get through the guarded gates. She had the paperwork in hand as they inched forward, hoping that she had made the right call.

  


  


  



	19. Visiting Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura brings the boys to see their father in prison. Old memories and new fantasies come along for the ride.

Title: Visiting Day  
Word Count: 2438  
Rating: T  
Set in the "One Wild Ride" AU   
Previously: [20\. Outreach](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/86278.html)  
Summary: Laura brings the boys to see their father in prison. Old memories and new fantasies come along for the ride.

  


  


  
[](http://pics.livejournal.com/fragrantwoods/pic/0001thhd/)  
  
  
  
The parking lot was cracked and broken in places, straggly dandelions pushing up through the asphalt. Laura didn’t bother looking for shade. It was a barren area, hemmed in by chain-link fences topped with razor wire, spaces marked off by faded white lines. Zak bounced in his seat, craning his neck as he tried to look in all directions at once.

“Is that my Dad?”

Laura’s eyes followed his pointing finger towards a man in a light blue shirt and navy pants, standing at some distance beyond the fence. The man was dark-haired, but she could tell it wasn’t Bill.

“I don’t think so, Zak.” She wanted to hug him, ask him if he had a picture of his father that he could look at whenever he wanted. She settled for patting his shoulder as she helped him out of the back seat and giving him her best reassuring smile.

“Dad’s not that tall, Zak.” Lee was doing his best to act nonchalant, too absorbed in the faded Mustang manual to be excited. Laura noted the pallor of the tight skin over his cheekbones.

“Lee? You okay?”

He stuck the manual back in the glove compartment, snapped his seatbelt open and grabbed the door handle. “Yeah—yes, ma’am. I’m good.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and started towards the low block building in front of them.

“Lee, wait…do you have a pocketknife or anything? And I need your student IDs.” Laura popped her trunk open as she talked, shoving her pocketbook in next to the spare tire. She accepted the small knives that both boys produced out of their pockets and put them next to her bag. Slipping her keys, driver’s license and the student IDs into her pocket, she walked the boys to the reinforced door and hit the buzzer. After a static-filled exchange with the guard on the other end of the intercom, they were buzzed in, a blast of cool smoke-scented air hitting them as they entered.

She handed their ID cards to the guard as she took the clipboard out of his hand, trying to look like this wasn’t her first time in a prison. She wrote all their names inside the printed lines, her pen faltering as she got to the “relationship” boxes. Penning “son” beside Lee’s name, then Zak’s, she tapped her pen against the clipboard for a second as she looked at her neatly inked “Laura Roslin”. Sighing, she slowly wrote “family friend”, thinking how inaccurate that felt.

She and the boys were escorted through a series of electronically locked doors before coming to the final barrier between them and the family visiting area…and Bill. She wished for a second that she still had her pocketbook so she could run a comb through her hair a final time, touch up her lipstick before walking through the door. She shook her head at her foolishness: this visit was for the boys, not her.

“Dad!” Zak yelled as he saw Bill stand up by a picnic table in the fenced open area. Lee was practically humming with tension as Bill walked towards them, Zak meeting him halfway as the boy ran into his father’s arms. Laura and Lee stood and watched as Bill picked his younger son up in a bear hug, lifting his sneakered feet off the ground as he and Zak grinned until their eyes squeezed shut.

Putting Zak down, Bill came over to his other two visitors with a more tentative step.

“Hi, son.” He stood in front of Lee, arms outstretched.

Lee stepped slowly into his father’s embrace, lifting his arms to his father’s shoulders. Laura thought it looked like the boy was trying to keep some distance between them and hoped she had made the right decision.

“Hey, Dad.” Lee stepped out of his father’s arms and stuck his hands back in his pockets.

“Hi, Bill.” She smiled her professional smile she used for parents as she looked at the tanned, fit man in prison blues.

“Hi, Laura. Thanks for bringing the boys.” His smile was easy and familiar, like they were meeting at the river park. _Like they were anywhere but in a prison._

“I was glad to do it. And glad for the good behavior at school while we waited on the paperwork.” She smiled at Lee, who finally allowed himself a small smile.

“C’mon, boys. Got something for you.” He put an arm around each boy and shepherded them towards the picnic table.

Laura looked around the yard as she followed, taking in the other families sitting at other tables: a man held a baby in his lap, bottle in an awkward hand as he fed his son, a tired-looking woman sitting across from him smiling through dried tear tracks. Another man gently held an old man’s hands with both of his as he spoke in earnest low tones. The mix of pained love and confinement was almost suffocating.

“Look, Miss Roslin!” Zak said as she sat at the table. “We got Vipers!”

Both boys were examining wooden models of Vipers carefully carved to perfect scale and sized to fit in one hand. Lee looked at his in silence as he ran a finger down the painted white and red body. Laura took the model Zak held, admiring the careful grooves and lines, the tiny black-painted cockpit in front. Both had “Husker” inked onto the side in tiny block script. Lee and Zak stepped away from the table, Zak flying his Viper through the air with Lee looking on indulgently, finally joining his little brother in pretend air battles.

“Those are amazing.”

“Thanks.” He smiled, bashful and a little proud.” I’ve been making all kinds of models in the woodshop. The prison sells our woodwork in a gallery in town. They let me make a couple for the boys.”

She looked down at his hands, marked with nicks and old healed cuts. She reached out towards him then stopped, unsure of her place here. Bill chuckled in his old familiar rumble and covered her hand with his. “It’s okay, Laura. Hand-holding’s allowed.”

She let herself enjoy his firm grip for a second, then slowly pulled her hand out of his. “I don’t think it’s a good idea in front of the boys. I don’t want to confuse them.”

He sighed and folded his hands. “They’re already confused. I don’t think you could do anything that could make it worse. Their mother—“

“I know. Lee told me about the divorce.” She thought she should probably add an “I’m sorry” to that, but couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

“It’s for the best. The boys don’t need to see her catting around while she’s still married to me, getting the idea that’s what marriage is.”

Something about his remark stung her heart. “You sound pretty pious, considering…everything.”

He flushed and looked down at the table. “That was different.”

Zak crashed into his father’s side, turning the giggling assault into a snuggle. “What’s different, Daddy?”

He looked over his son’s head into somber green eyes. “Nothing, son. Nothing’s different.” He glanced up at Lee, standing over his little brother. “So, how do you like those Vipers?”

************************

Laura slid to the end of the bench and looked out over the yard again, away from the Adamas. She wished she had something to read, something to write on, any prop to distract her from this sweet disastrous man…distract her from the fleeting fantasies that these were _their_ boys, that they were a family having lunch in their backyard.

_I should’ve come home more. I should’ve tried harder._

Bill’s soft gruff questions about school and pets and boys’ adventures faded into the background, the rhythmic tones of his voice punctuated by the boys’ chatter lulling her as she sat in shade-dappled sun.

_She had called him the day after he came to her school. They had started seeing each other again. Her father co-signed a business loan for the shop…the wedding was small…_ she sat with her chin propped on her folded hands, spinning impossible fantasies of unremarkable domestic life.

A sharp “That new, Dad?” brought her out of her reverie. Laura realized she’d been staring at Bill’s forearms, thick-muscled and dark against the edge of the light blue rolled-up sleeves. She could still feel their strength around her. _After all these years…_

Lee was poking a dark outline that was barely visible under the edge of Bill’s left sleeve. Laura watched as Bill slid the sleeve up a few inches.

“Yeah. I, uh…a guy in here does these. It’s kind of against the rules…we both lost some yard time for it.”

A surprisingly ornate “ **L**   “had been tattooed in blue-black ink into the skin of his upper arm, the bottom loop almost to his elbow. It was patchy in spots, that grayish-blue tone that screamed “prison tattoo”.

“It doesn’t look as nice as your Viper,” Zak announced, frowning.

Laura finally looked at Bill’s eyes then, the dark clear blue holding her gaze, almost daring her to look away.

“I’ll get it re-done when I get out, Zak.” His eyes never let hers go as he talked. “I’ll either get it inked professionally, make it look right…or I’ll get something over it. Turn it into something else.” His eyes blazed for a second. “I’ll decide after I’m free…see what seems right.”

Tears pricked at her eyes as Lee hovered his forefinger over the ink. “That’s for me, right, Dad?”

“Your name starts with an “L”, doesn’t it?”

Zak pouted and spun his Viper on the wooden table. “What about me? Where’s my ‘nitial?”

Laura blinked a few times to clear her eyes as Bill explained he’d get a “Z” after he got out. Lee looked at the letter and then shot a curious look in Laura’s direction.

“Her name starts with an “L”, too,” he said.

“Yeah, it does.”

Father and son studied each other, unspoken words passing between them. Finally, Lee nodded. “I guess that works okay.”

Bill dropped a kiss on the top of Lee’s head before the boy could pull away, face reddening. “Dad! Gods, I’m not a baby.”

“Neither of you are babies, Lee…Zak. I need for both of you to be good for your mother, for your teachers, your club-uncles until I get out.” He gave a solemn look to each boy in turn. “And mind Miss Roslin. This is a nice thing she did, bringing you up here.”

“Yeah, but now I gotta write a paper.”

Laura smiled at the boy’s frown. “You’ll live, Lee, I promise.”

A shadow fell over the table. “Five more minutes, folks.” The visit guard nodded at Bill. “Nice family, Husker,” he said in a low voice.

“Thanks.” The two men looked at each other with mutual respect, and Laura suspected there was a Viper tattoo under the guard’s tan sleeve. The guard walked around to Bill’s side of the table.

“Don’t forget you’ve got contact privileges.” He winked at Laura as he walked back to the entrance.

“What’s that mean, Daddy?”

“That means I can do hugs and goodbye kisses.” He was smiling now, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked lovingly at Zak, then Lee. The smile became serious when he looked at Laura. “For anybody who wants one,” he added.

Each boy took a hug and kiss on the cheek with all the grace expected of boys their age, then stepped back. A smirk tugged at Lee’s lips as he looked at Laura. “Next!”

“Lee, that’s—“

Laura was cut off as Bill pulled her into a quick friendly hug. “Thanks again for bringing the boys. Seeing you…it feels good, even like this.”

She could feel his heavy stare, like he was carving her face into his memory as deliberately as he’d carved the model Vipers. The yard, the world fell away as he touched her chin with his fingers, leaning in to give her a sweet, chaste kiss on her lips. Her hand rose to his chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken under her fingers.

When she smiled at him after they moved apart, she felt like she was eighteen again. His smile said the same: for an instant they were back to where they’d started, innocent, uncomplicated.

“Time, people,” the visit guard said with finality.

“I gave permission for you to write me…you know, for the boys,” she reminded him as she began walking towards the heavy door into the building, Lee and Zak by her side.

“Count on it, Laura.”

“I will, Bill.”

The door shut, making her feel like the prisoner as Bill, standing in the afternoon sun, disappeared from her sight. Three sets of snuffles echoed in the bare hallway as the guard guided them towards the outer office.

“Your father’s a model inmate, boys,” he said kindly. “Four guys in here got their high school equivalency papers because of your Dad’s tutoring. Hel—heck of a model ship-builder, too.”

Laura’s back stiffened as Lee stopped in his tracks, then started walking again, muttering “must be nice to be them” under his breath.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a swirl of ice cream, driving, pizza and board games at her apartment until it was time for Laura to take the boys back to their mother. She was in their drive and had her hand on the door latch when Lee cleared his throat.

“You don’t have to walk us in, Miss Roslin. You look pretty tired. We’re okay from here.”

She felt like a coward as she nodded gratefully. Bill’s light kiss was still tattooed on her lips too strongly for her to be comfortable facing Carolanne tonight. She covered her relief with a strict “I expect that paper the first day we’re back at school, young man.”

He grinned, unfazed. “Yes, ma’am.” His grin faded as he looked towards his house.

Zak sprinted to the door, Lee following with his characteristic slouch. Laura waited until she saw the door open, a flash of blond hair visible in the porch light. She slipped the car into gear and pulled away from the curb.

It wasn’t until she parked the car in front of her apartment that she saw the figure on the seat beside her in the streetlight’s glow.  A miniature Viper lay in the seat where Lee had been, its perfection marred by a broken-off wing. She dug around for the broken piece, finding it shoved under the seat. She tried to remember if she had wood glue in her toolbox.

_It wouldn’t be like new,_ she thought, _but it was still worth saving._

  


  



	20. Arrangements

Title: Arrangements   
Author: [](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/profile)[ **fragrantwoods**](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/)  
Rating: T Warning: death, funerals  
Word Count: 3240  
Follows the following AU drabbles

[The Old Man, the Old Lady](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/368775.html) , [Running Late](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387740.html) .[If He'd Only Known...](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387991.html), [Presidential Abstinence](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/439867.html), [Driving Lessons](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/440161.html), ["Let Me Go Crazy"](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/442211.html), [Autumn Leaves](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77356.html), [Ivy Covered Hallowed Halls](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77703.html) , [Separate Lives](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/448079.html), [Dotted Line](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/78706.html), [Coming to the Table](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/78924.html), [Memories of Sweeter Days](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/79512.html), [Time Machine](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/79649.html) , ["Long and Low and Sleek and Fast"](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/82217.html) , [Anything for Love](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83334.html) , [Community Roots, Rotten](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83592.html),  [I'd Lie for You(and That's the Truth)](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83867.html),  [Shame at the Gate](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/84345.html) ,  ["One Wing in the Fire"](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/84582.html) , [Outreach](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/86278.html)

  


[](http://pics.livejournal.com/fragrantwoods/pic/0001thhd/)

 

Laura wished Mark Sechrest didn’t have such a large mirror on the wall of his office. She examined the wan features reflected back at her. The red-rimmed eyes, the chewed lips, the pallor stark against red hair all testified to what she’d been through over the past twenty-four hours. He was speaking in soothing professional tones about the complexities of multiple arrangements…everybody having to put their grief aside to coordinate logistics…he glanced at the empty chair by her side from time to time, as if he wished she had a husband, a partner, a best friend to help her through this.

She watched the woman in the mirror with distracted feelings of sympathy. She looked too alone for what she had to do.

  “Miss Roslin? Can I get you some water? Coffee?”

“No. I’d like to get this done.”

“Certainly.” He leaned slightly to check the tissue box on the side table next to her. He seemed relieved it was full.

 Laura imagined he went through lots of tissues in a week, a month…the realization that the chair she sat in was probably occupied daily with a shell-shocked man or woman reeling from loss made her body clench. _So much death._ She wondered if this had been the same office she and her father and sisters had been in when they made her mother’s arrangements. It seemed bigger than it had been when the four of them had filled the guest chairs.

 “Now, Cheryl’s husband will be making her arrangements, is that right?”

“Yes.”

The funeral director cleared his throat before starting again. “Your father had a pre-need contract with us, as you know. He left very specific instructions.”

“I…good. That’s good.” She nodded once.

“Would you like to see the casket your father chose?”

_No. I don’t want to see his casket, or hear details about the construction of his vault, or pick a color for his frakking satin pillow._

“I suppose…yes, I should.”

He rose and straightened his black suit jacket. “We have several caskets in the Athena Room that might be appropriate for Sandra.”

“Appropriate.” Her mouth barely moved as she spoke. _Will it have a lighted mirror, a travel wine set, a loop of family stories set into the lid?_

“Appropriate” and “casket for Sandra” was an obscene combination of words, the wrongness of it hitting her in her stomach, her throat. Somewhere nearby, in another branch of Sechrest Funeral Homes, her brother-in-law was in a similar room, trying to match finishes and brass handles and satin interiors to Cheryl and their unborn, now neverborn, baby.

Mr. Sechrest touched her elbow to guide her from his office to the long hall leading to the display area. Acidic tears seemed to gather in the back of her throat as she looked down the hall and saw double doors opening on to a showroom of open caskets. She jerked away, her tight control slipping. “Where’s the ladies’ room?”

He led her across the hall, opening the door for her as she bolted into the bathroom. She barely heard the stall door bang shut behind her as she bent and retched, gathering back her hair in one hand as she supported her shaking body with the other. Each time she thought she was done, the image of the officers at her apartment door floated in front of her eyes, twisting her inside out again.

Finally finishing, she flushed and went to the sink to wash her face and rinse her mouth. She stared at the back of the restroom door as she leaned against the cool metal side of the stall.

  _A minute. I just need a minute. A time-out…then I can go back out there and…_

Her stomach quaked again and she closed her eyes, trying to focus on the words she could barely hear over the hum of the air conditioning. She idly wondered how long it was _appropriate_ for her to hide in the bathroom before getting back to the business of burying her family.

  
*******************************************************************************************   


Mark Sechrest had been doing this for years, like his father before him. There was always something that had to come out, he thought. Sometimes it was tears, sometimes it was throwing up, and sometimes it was a vase smashed against a bathroom counter in despair and anger. He checked his watch and stepped into his secretary’s office.

“Check on Miss Roslin in a couple of minutes, would you? I’m going to review her father’s file again. That poor woman needs somebody with her.”

“Sure, Mr. Sechrest.” The middle-aged woman finished her spreadsheet entry and turned away from her keyboard towards her boss.  “Have you started calling the pall bearers on Mr. Roslin’s list?”

“No, but that’s a good place to start. I can’t get her to identify any support person for herself, but maybe one of them can.”

He went back in his office and opened the Roslin file again. The handwritten list Mr. Roslin had prepared was near the front of the folder. Mark smiled to himself. _Meticulous old guy_. He’d even put the names in alphabetical order, with contact numbers written neatly by each name.

“Wish me luck,” he called to his secretary as she passed his door on her way to the ladies’ room.

He’d start at the top, work his way down, he thought.

_William Adama._

He reached for his phone and began dialing.

  
  
**********************************************************************************************   


Bill kept one hand in his pocket, his other hand tight in Laura’s grip as her fingers flexed and dug into his. He’d been out the door before Sechrest had stopped talking, throwing the phone to Helo to hang up as he headed for his bike. His hands still had grease in the creases, though he’d wiped the worst of it off on his jeans at stoplights. Laura had backed away from the hug he’d tried to give her, then grabbed his hands like they were lifelines. He had nodded at her withdrawal, trying to tell her without words that he understood her need to build walls around herself today.

He could help her dismantle the walls when this was over. Right now, she needed their protection against the mushy soft chords playing in the background, the air freshener and carnation scent heavy in the air.

“Bill?”

She was looking at him, red-eyed and expectant. He focused on the swatches arrayed on the polished light oak of the casket.

“How about the peach? Looks kinda like the blouse she was wearing in that family portrait your Dad had in his office.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Her tone softened as her hand eased its grip. “She did like that color.”

Bill drew out her thoughts with careful words, guiding her through the process of all the choices that needed to be made. A part of him was amazed that they could be so comfortable with each other after so little contact over the past three years.

He looked at her lips out of the corner of his eye. He could still feel their smooth warmth after all this time, that goodbye kiss that had surprised them both. He hadn’t seen her again after an asshole Gemenese judge had agreed with Carolanne that the boys shouldn’t see their father in prison.

His last year inside, “Laura Roslin” had been a signature at the bottom of a handful of professional, encouraging letters that were screened by guards before coming to his hands. He sometimes wondered if she kept a small stack of his return notes in a desk drawer, maybe shoved to the back by more important correspondence. The “thank yous” for keeping him updated on the boys, the progress he was making on getting a degree in History by mail, his latest model-building, the counting down the days until he was free…the careful avoidance of making plans, of assuming too much.

He had kept every one of her letters, shoving them into his duffle bag as he left his cell for the last time. They’d gone into his personal safe in his room at the club, sealed away from the raucous celebration that shut down _Adama Automotive Repair_ for two days straight.

 He hadn’t looked at them again since the day he had glanced down at some old newspaper under a drip pan and seen her, smiling and glorious, next to a tall, trim guy with a 20-cubit haircut and a carefully veneered grin. _District Attorney Adar and Assistant School Superintendent Roslin attend Caprica City fundraiser for “Arts in Schools”,_ the caption had read.

He’d pushed the letters to the back of his safe after work that night, focusing his energy on the club and his boys, and told himself to quit chasing after pipe dreams. It was their shared history and old promises to her father that had him flying to the funeral home, he told himself, not any hopes of re-kindling old flames.

By his side, Laura had grown steadier, calmer as she went over the list of options and arrangements. Her hand had finally loosened enough on his so he could run a soothing thumb over her palm. He noticed the lack of rings on her fingers and wondered what had ever become of that guy in the paper.

Laura’s fingers left his grip to take up a pen as she started signing off on the pages of contracts and agreements. Bill stuck his hand back in his pocket and looked around the showroom. His eyes fell on the streamlined gray model that had been Mr. Roslin’s choice—almost a military casket, with a few more carvings around the corners to give it a civilian flare. His wind-weathered eyes stung as he realized there would be no Colonial flag draped over Mr. Roslin’s coffin, no final rifle salute fired over him. The wrongness of that made his chest tight.

“That’s everything, Miss Roslin. If you could have the clothes back here by noon, and a recent picture of both, that’d be great.” Mr. Sechrest took the papers and handed them off to his secretary. “And the makeup your sister usually wore, if you want. Whatever you feel she would have preferred.”

“Of course.” Her tone was cool and steady now. Bill could tell that Assistant Superintendent Roslin had taken the forefront, letting Laura retreat to gather herself together and prepare for the next tasks. He reached for her hand again, then paused as he heard a quavering “Laura?” coming from the hallway.

She clasped her hands in front of her as she blinked tears out of her glistening green eyes. “Bill, that’s Cheryl’s…my brother-in-law. I need to—“

“I know, Laura. You go do what you need to do.” For a second he folded his big callused hands over hers and held her eyes. “I’m right here if you need me.”

His hold tightened as one tear slid down her cheek and her breath shuddered. “I know,” she echoed.

He pulled her towards him, their hands still together, and kissed her temple as gently as a priest’s benediction. He wiped her tear with his thumb and returned her watery smile. She whispered a breathy “Thank you” as she turned away to comfort the grieving new widower.

Mr. Roslin would be proud of her, he thought, as he watched her walk away.   


***********************

The next days blurred together as Laura went as she was guided, sitting or standing according to the direction of others. She had barely caught her breath from standing at her father and Sandra’s gravesides when it was time to return to the chapel for Cheryl’s service. Her anchor had been a broad back and squared shoulders in navy wool, a tanned hand gripping one of the steel handles of her father’s final bed as she followed him one last time through the chapel doors.

She could still feel his presence from the back of the packed chapel, one of a number of men lined up along the back of the crowd, standing straight and silent. Knowing he was there felt like an old warm coat of her father’s being wrapped around her shoulders, giving her the strength to comfort her brother-in-law as he wept beside her.

The sun was heading towards the horizon when Cheryl was laid to rest. The mourners began to say their last words of useless comfort and straggle out of the cemetery as staff began the tasks of finishing the burials.

“You look exhausted.”

She turned at the rich rumble and gave Bill a half-smile. “I am.” She looked over his snowy white dress shirt, his carefully pressed suit. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a suit before.”

“You haven’t. This is the first time I’ve worn it. I bought it when your Dad asked me to do this a few years ago.”

She shook her head. “You and my Dad…”

“He was a good friend, Laura. To a lot of people.”

“I’d like for us to talk about that someday.”

Her head jerked towards a low rumbling coming from a distance. It seemed to be getting closer.

“What’s that noise?”

He looked in the direction of the noise. “That’s…some people who wanted to do a last service for your father.”

Rows of black motorcycles roared into view and pulled into the now-deserted cemetery parking lot. Rough men in leather and denim dismounted, walking towards the funeral director as a few more cars and pick-ups pulled up carrying older men, some missing a limb, others still carrying the thousand-yard stare. Over half wore a piece of Colonial Fleet uniform: a jacket, a cap, an old dress sash.

“We didn’t want to disrupt the services.” Bill explained. “The director said it would be okay for them to finish the graves.”

She watched the younger men take up shovels left by groundskeeper’s shed. A man in red and brown raiment read from a scroll as they pulled the artificial grass back and started to work.

“That priest…he’s from the House of Mars, isn’t he?” She found herself whispering her question to Bill as they watched from a distance.

“Yeah. He’s Tauron…he’s a friend of the club.”

He tucked her hand around his crooked forearm, covering her chilled fingers. “Let’s get you home.”

**************************   


He had dreamed of this…walking into her apartment, knowing that there were no barriers to their being together. No bars, no Carolanne in the way, no one to judge them unsuitable for each other. He looked around the cluttered comfortable room and wondered if this space would ever become part of his world.  
  
She’d squeezed his hand as she went to her room to change out of her funeral clothes.  He thought of the soft curves that would be revealed as she undressed and flushed red as he remembered their last frantic coupling in her father’s Mustang. So many years ago and yet it seemed so clear…

He was staring at a familiar object on her bookshelf when he heard her bare feet whispering against the carpet behind him. He turned and his breath caught for a second—she looked almost like the teenager she’d once been, in faded jeans and a man’s shirt falling past her thighs. The day had added to the fine lines at her eyes and around her mouth, but she was still the girl who part of him had never stopped thinking of as “his”.

“What’re you doing with this?” he asked with a smile as he nodded towards the bookshelf.

She ran a finger down the mended wing of the model Viper. “It took some damage on the ride back from the…from seeing you. I tried to put it back together.”

“I bet this was Lee’s.”

“How did you know?”

He smiled. “Lee was pretty mad at me back then. Mad at a lot of things.”

He watched her straighten up, going from one area of the living room to another with no plan or purpose, just shifting a few books, some condolence cards from one spot to another. He could feel the heaviness in the air, like the stillness before a thunderstorm…the thickness that silences the birds’ singing and sends wildlife scurrying for cover. He accepted the glass of wine she offered him from a half-full bottle on the kitchen bar, then watched as she drained the bottle into her own glass. She was developing a thousand-yard stare of her own, he thought as he sat beside her on the couch.

She pulled her bare feet up under her and leaned back, taking a deep swallow of the light red wine as she looked past his shoulder.

“How are the boys?”

“Well, Lee’s riding now, and Zak’s been begging to start…School is good, although I don’t think they’ll ever have a teacher they like as much as they liked you….”

Her eyes had closed as she listened. He thought he could go on talking for hours if it meant she could keep that calm expression on her face, the corners of her mouth barely turned up as he rambled about his sons, his mundane descriptions of everyday life. Her shoulders had started to loosen, and she turned her cheek against the afghan folded over the back of the couch. He was just thinking that she was handling everything almost frighteningly well when he saw the wine’s surface start to quiver against her glass as her hand began shaking.

“Laura?”

Her face was pressed into the woven wool afghan, eyes screwed tight and nostrils flaring as she inhaled increasingly desperate breaths.  He took the glass out of her limp fingers and moved closer. As he brought his face closer to hers, he got the scent of a light floral perfume, still clinging to the afghan.   _Not anything she would have worn_ …he watched her throat work and the first tears started to slip through her closed eyelids. _More like something one of her.… Oh._ He raised his hand to her cheek.

“Laura…”

“They were right here.” He voice was thick with tears and disbelieving horror. “They were right here, Sharon on one side, Cheryl on the other, me in the middle.” Her eyes were open now, begging him to make this make sense. “How could they be right here, not even a week ago? I had dinner with Daddy last Sunday...how can they be here one minute and then just… _gone_?“

Laura was gulping air now, the thin threads of shock that had been a veil between her and her feelings snapping one by one as she shook her head against the wrongness of everything. Bill could feel sympathetic tears welling up as he remembered that gutted feeling of watching a fellow Viper pilot singing through space one minute, then watching their light on the DRADIS blink out. He remembered a faint mix of scented soap and gunmetal on a thin pillow in his rack that had come and gone for weeks before finally fading.

Swallowing hard, he moved closer to pull her into his arms as her body began to shudder in waves of wracking sobs, the strangled words of denial, of impossible wanting slipping out between the gasps. He ran his broad hands over her back over and over as she moaned into his chest, begging for her family back. They were in the thick of the storm and he was helpless to shelter her. He stroked her hair and pulled her tighter into his chest, and hoped he could keep her from drowning.

  
  



	21. Stolen Illusions

Title: Stolen Illusions  
Author: [](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/profile)[ **fragrantwoods**](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/)  
Rating: T   
Word Count: 3100  
Follows the following AU drabbles and stories  
  
[The Old Man, the Old Lady](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/368775.html)  , [Running Late](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387740.html) .[If He'd Only Known...](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387991.html), [Presidential Abstinence](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/439867.html), [Driving Lessons](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/440161.html), ["Let Me Go Crazy"](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/442211.html), [Autumn Leaves](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77356.html), [Ivy Covered Hallowed Halls](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77703.html) , [Separate Lives](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/448079.html), [Dotted Line](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/78706.html), [Coming to the Table](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/78924.html), [Memories of Sweeter Days](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/79512.html), [Time Machine](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/79649.html) , ["Long and Low and Sleek and Fast"](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/82217.html) , [Anything for Love](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83334.html) , [Community Roots, Rotten](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83592.html),  [I'd Lie for You(and That's the Truth)](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83867.html),  [Shame at the Gate](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/84345.html) ,  ["One Wing in the Fire"](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/84582.html) , [Outreach](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/86278.html),  [Arrangements](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/90751.html)

  


 

 

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/fragrantwoods/pic/0001thhd/)

“Do you want to file charges, Miss Roslin?”

Laura looked thoughtfully at the young officer, chewing on the inside of her cheek as her mind churned, trying to make sense of all this.

“I don’t know…I really need to go over there and see what’s missing.”

The officer held his cap in his hands, eyes squinted against the light spilling from her apartment. “Not necessarily, Ma’am. Regardless of what was taken, it’s still a breaking and entering. We can file other charges later.”

“I should go on over.” She pulled her robe tighter around her. “I can be dressed in a minute. Could you follow me to my father’s house?” She glanced at the wall clock again. 2:30 am. This is what she got for putting off going through her Dad’s house, she thought.

“No problem, Miss Roslin.”

She went back inside as the officer’s radio began squawking in his car.

Face washed, hair combed and jeans and a clean shirt slung on, she locked up her apartment and went over to the officer. “Should I follow you, or you me?”

He held up a hand as he held the radio between shoulder and chin, scribbling down notes. She waited in the cool night air as he signed off.

“Good news, Ma’am. One of your Dad’s neighbors was up when the alarm went off. They got most of the license plate number off the bike. Downtown’s running it now.”

_The bike?_

“Great, officer.” Her keys jangled as she walked to her car. “After you, please.”

*************************************************

The house still smelled like her father, she thought. The old-fashioned cologne, the pipe smoke, the scent of dry papers and book bindings. A cursory look around assured her that the big items, the television, the stereo were still in place. There was none of the damage she would have expected from a robbery.

“Miss Roslin? We got a hit on the plate. Looks like it’s registered to Leland Adama.”

She looked up, surprise clear in her eyes. “Lee Adama broke into my Dad’s house? That—that doesn’t make any sense.”

The officer looked down at his clipboard. “He’s in with a bad crowd…could be this was some kind of initiation.” He looked up at her. “You know his father runs the Tauron Outlaws.”

She paused with one hand on the door to her father’s office. Her voice was carefully neutral as she responded almost by reflex.

“His father runs an automotive repair shop.” Her father’s voice rang in her memory. “And he’s in a club for Harley enthusiasts.”

She could feel the officer’s solicitousness ebbing away as she talked. She felt herself dropping in importance in his eyes as she admitted knowing the Adamas.

“Tell you what, Miss Roslin. We’ve cleared the house. Check your Dad’s office for theft, and if you find anything gone and want to file charges, give me a call.” He handed her a business card and flipped the papers back down on his clipboard.

“Sure. Thanks,” she said as she watched him walk down the hall. She tried to imagine Lee Adama rifling through her Dad’s belongings, looking for valuables to steal. No matter what the officer had thought, she couldn’t see it. Drawing a deep breath, she pushed the door open.

 _Lee, my ass_ , she thought. Bill’s distinctive scent of citrus and evergreen, male musk, and a hint of engine oil had hit her as soon as she had seated herself at her father’s desk.  She fumbled around the underside of the desk, fingers finally touching the catch that opened a hidden drawer build into the side.

As soon as she turned the key to her father’s hidden drawer, she could tell by the arrangement of items that something bulky had been removed. She closed her eyes for a minute and tried to remember an evening when she had tiptoed in to surprise her father with an extra good-night kiss. She had caught a glimpse of a gray lockbox before he had slammed the drawer shut and given her a hug. She could almost see it in the empty space surrounded by pens and notepads.

She quietly shut the drawer and stood up to get to the wall safe above his desk. Spinning the dial, she bit her bottom lip. She should have gotten everything out before the funeral, she thought. She held her breath as she pulled the door open.

Twenty minutes later, she pushed the safe door shut and spun the lock. She’d been surprised at the sleeves of high-denomination cubits stacked six deep against one side, the two small chamois bags of precious gemstones next to them. But the rest…. She fingered the envelope that was sealed tight, an inked line of Tauron symbols written across the seal.

The house was quiet as a temple, the only sound the ticking of the mantel clock across the room. Her eyes fell on a gleaming letter opener next to a leather pen holder. Her hand was halfway to it when she heard the soft shutting of the front door, followed by booted footsteps in the hall. Laura shoved the envelope into the top desk drawer and grabbed the phone. She had hit the first two digits of the emergency number when she heard a familiar voice from the doorway.

“Laura?”

Her hand slowly dropped to the desk as she hung up the phone. Bill looked exhausted, she thought, and a pang of concern hit her right in the heart. His black sweater and dark jeans blended into the darkness of the unlit hallway, the dim light from the office highlighting the circles under his eyes and the deepening wrinkles in his cheeks. He looked like he’d aged years in the days since the funeral. His blue eyes, usually so clear and sharp, seemed bleary and bloodshot.

“What’s going on, Bill? Why’d you break into Dad’s house?” Without thinking, she moved her fingers until they touched the letter opener.

He glanced at her hand and his mouth quirked in an almost-smile. “I didn’t break in.” He held up a set of keys.

“That’s not what the alarm company said. Guess Dad forgot to give you the codes.” She raised a questioning eyebrow.

He sighed. “He didn’t want to give me the codes over the phone. He’d asked me to come by in person, but then the accident…” He stepped into the room, freezing as she reached for the phone again.

“Stay right there while you talk, Bill. I mean it. I thought we…this doesn’t make any Godsdamn sense. I can’t believe you and Lee went through Dad’s house… _my_ house.” _All you had to do was ask. Why didn’t you just ask?_ Her confusion was quickly building into anger.

He held his hands up in surrender. “Lee was never in the house. He was just here for backup if I needed it.”

She snorted. “What a great Dad. No wonder the officer looked at me like biker trash when I said I knew you and Lee.  I stood up for you, said that you, of all people, would never rob the Roslin home.”

His hands dropped to his sides. “I wouldn’t. I was just getting some things that belonged to me…that your Dad would have wanted me to have.”

“Really? He wanted you to have that lockbox that’s been in his secret drawer for years?”

Bill’s mouth had drawn into a grim line. “As a matter of fact, he did. And there’s some things of mine in his safe, too.”

She watched him cautiously move further into the room until he reached her grandfather’s barrel-back chair by the bookshelves and sat down at the edge of the seat.

Laura felt her stomach turn over as she pictured Bill, in the dark, maybe with a flashlight, rummaging through her father’s safe.

“You didn’t have enough time to steal anything but the box?”

She watched his chest rise and fall as he took a deep breath. “There’s a lot here that you don’t understand.”

“That’s an understatement.” Her throat tightened. “You could have asked for anything in here, Bill. Anything. Why didn’t you just come to me and ask? I thought”—she turned away—“I thought we still knew each other well enough for that.” Her face flamed as she remembered sobbing into his chest, looking to him for comfort, feeling so safe with him. She wondered if he’d been planning this even then. “Right now, I don’t feel like I know you at all.”

He leaned forward in the chair. “I know this is a shock, Laura. I’ll explain everything as soon as I can, but right now…I just need an envelope that your Dad left for me. It should have my name on it somewhere written in Old Tauron.”

The rage started boiling up in her chest. She had just wanted to mourn her family, start picking up the pieces ( _and see what was left between them_ , part of her mind whispered). The last thing she needed was some cloak-and-dagger mystery dumped into her lap, with an additional helping of reputation damage.

“Just an envelope, Bill? Not the money, or the jewels…just an envelope?”

He didn’t seem surprised as she described the contents of the safe. “We can talk about that other stuff later. I just need the envelope tonight.”

“Well, I can’t read Old Tauron, so I think I should check the contents for signs that they belong to you.”

She pulled out the envelope and sliced it open even as Bill was on his feet moving towards her. “Laura, don’t!”

She rose to her feet as she watched the contents spill out over her father’s desk, barely hearing the “Frak!” muttered by Bill as he stood at her side.

“Frak me,” she whispered, as she looked at the Colonial Identity cards, stamped with official seals over pictures of Bill, Lee, Zak, and men she had seen at the garage. None of the names under the pictures were familiar. Blood roared in her ears, blocking out whatever Bill was trying to say as she shuffled through the pile of cards. He grabbed at her hand, but not before she flipped over the last card. _I wonder where he got that picture,_ she thought, as she looked at her own face, neatly centered over a name she’d never heard of.

*************************  
  
  
Her wariness had given way to her need to understand what was going on, he figured, as he poured them both a drink from her father's liquor cabinet.

Bright green ambrosia sloshed in her glass as she paced back and forth.  Bill stood by the mantel, nursing his own drink as he listened to her trying to put together what she had seen tonight, every word dripping ice. He’d bitten his tongue almost in two trying to hold back the truth. He watched the darkness start to fade through the window and realized he needed to go before the neighborhood came alive.

“Was that it? Did Dad know you were into hard-core crime, and figured you’d drag me down with you? Is that why he thought I needed fake papers? One day, we’d be, what…living on the lam or something?”

He took a long drink, trying to figure out how much to tell her. He’d been trying to do that for a long time, he thought as he swallowed.

“Your father knew that there were some strange things going on within the Defense Department. And yeah, he thought the day might come when we’d have to…be out of harm’s way.”

That stopped her pacing. “The Defense Department? He’s a university professor… _was_ a university professor. He didn’t have anything to do with the Defense Department!”

“Laura, remember when your father was so active in veteran’s affairs, years ago?”

“Of course.”

“And he was so successful at lobbying for educational benefits for vets?”

She looked at him with suddenly uncertain eyes. “My father was an eloquent man when it came to his passion for education and fair treatment for Colonial vets.”

He put his drink down on the mantel and moved a few steps closer. “He was that. But it helped that he knew people in the right places.”

She frowned. “You mean some of the students he helped initially? I know a few went back into the military.”

He hated lying to her, but as soon as the truth started to tug at him, he saw again the pile of papers with big red “TOP SECRET” stamps on every page. They had looked so benign in the small lockbox. Hard to believe within those pages was very possibly the shape of things to come. He mentally bit his tongue again.

“Yeah, something like that.”

She gave him a measured look over the rim of her glass. “You’d say just about anything right now to smooth this over, wouldn’t you? You want to hear my best guess?”

He braced himself. He got the feeling this wasn’t going to be pretty. “Sure.”

“I think he never looked past “Bill Adama, veteran of the Cylon War”. He felt so bad about what your family had been through…oh, don’t look so surprised. He told me once about your father's first wife and your half-sister getting blown up in a terrorist attack, and then your half-brother getting killed.” She took a long drink of ambrosia.

“He got so invested in you and your family saga that he couldn’t believe you could be a bad guy. Every time you went to prison, every time rumors were going around that the Tauron Outlaws were running guns and drugs off-world, he’d tell me Bill Adama isn’t like that. I didn’t have all the facts. You were taking the fall for somebody else.” She slammed her glass down, drumming her nails against the side.

He knew how I felt about you,” she continued quietly.

He was so close, he thought. If she started to cry, if she came into his arms, he’d start talking. He ached to defend himself, defend her father against her imagination, against the bits of evidence that looked so damning. His chest felt hot as he watched her, slightly bent over her crossed arms as if she was in pain down to the bone. _So close…._

She straightened up to her full height, shoulders back, looking every inch her father’s daughter. She looked directly at him, and it was as though something had cracked inside, letting what they had had together trickle away.

“And he knew that whatever you were doing, the life you’re in…he knew you wouldn’t stop.” Tears began welling up now, and all he could do was stand by helplessly and watch.

“I guess my father didn’t have as much faith in me and my decisions as I thought. Judging by this,” she waved a hand towards the envelope, refilled and resealed, “he figured I’d love you enough to throw away my life and live like a frakking Outlaw.”

Two tears made their way down her cheeks. “Thanks, Bill. Thanks for showing me my father didn’t know me at all. And I sure as hell didn’t know him.” She handed him the envelope with a surprisingly steady hand.

Bill turned towards the window again at the sound of birdsong starting the day. The sun was minutes from coming up and he needed to get off the street. One last thing, he told himself. One last piece of the lying puzzle, and that would be that. Godsdamnit, if this was only about him…but it wasn’t.

“Laura, the paper....” He felt his face turn hot and red. Even this made him a liar. The last thing out of the envelope had been a list of the safe contents with encrypted locations and sellers' names. The first deal had today's date penned beside it in Mr. Roslin's shaky handwriting. He'd be cleaning out the safe after all, just like the criminal she was picturing him to be.

“Oh, right. The list of your other property. Gods know I don’t want to be charged with possession of stolen goods.”

She turned to spin the lock on the safe, trying three times before she got the combination right. One day, he told himself. One day he’ll tell her the truth, make things right. For himself and for her father.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t steal anything while I’m gone,” she said bitterly.

He stared at the open safe, at the cubits and gems that would be exchanged for weapons to add to their stores. Mr. Roslin’s last contribution, he thought. _His last act of patriotism._

“Here.” She walked back in and shoved a flowered pillowcase into his hand. “Get your stolen… _crap_ out of my father’s house.”

He moved to the safe and started placing the money and gems into the pillowcase, feeling more like a thief with every soft clink. He could hear her irregular breathing behind him, sounding like she was trying to hold back more tears.

He tied the pillowcase into a small bundle, finally looking up to meet her eyes. She turned away.

“Lock the door behind you. I’ll tell the police nothing was missing and I don’t want to pursue the break-in further.”

“Thanks.” For a second, the calmness of her tone gave him a flicker of hope. She didn’t sound so angry anymore. Maybe….

“Bill?” She wrapped her arms around herself again, backing away.

“I—I appreciate your…whatever we had in the past, and your help with the funerals.” She rubbed her arms like she was feeling a chill. “But please don’t ever contact me again. Whatever we had…I’m done.”

He searched her face, memorizing the shape, the plane of her cheekbones, the deep green of her eyes. He tried to store up enough of Laura to last forever, tried to look past the pain he saw in her face.

“I understand.” He sighed and saw all the versions of Laura he had loved flash before his eyes.

”Good-bye, Laura.”

He walked past her, averting his eyes to keep from breaking. His boots echoed through the dead-feeling hallway as he glanced here and there at the pictures, the furnishings he’d never see again. Outside, passing the restored Mustang under its tarp, he wondered who she would find to take care of it now.

He set the bundle on his bike as he fastened his helmet. He raised the pillowcase-wrapped valuables to his face, letting the faint jasmine and ginger scents wash over him for a couple of seconds before stuffing it into his saddlebag. The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon as he drove out of the Roslin driveway for the last time.


	22. Something New

Title: Something New

Author: [](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/profile)[ **fragrantwoods**](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/)  
Rating: T   
Word Count: 1015  
Follows the following AU drabbles and stories  
  
[The Old Man, the Old Lady](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/368775.html) , [Running Late](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387740.html) .[If He'd Only Known...](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387991.html), [Presidential Abstinence](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/439867.html), [Driving Lessons](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/440161.html), ["Let Me Go Crazy"](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/442211.html), [Autumn Leaves](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77356.html), [Ivy Covered Hallowed Halls](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77703.html) , [Separate Lives](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/448079.html), [Dotted Line](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/78706.html), [Coming to the Table](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/78924.html), [Memories of Sweeter Days](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/79512.html), [Time Machine](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/79649.html) , ["Long and Low and Sleek and Fast"](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/82217.html) , [Anything for Love](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83334.html) , [Community Roots, Rotten](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83592.html),  [I'd Lie for You(and That's the Truth)](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83867.html),  [Shame at the Gate](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/84345.html) ,  ["One Wing in the Fire"](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/84582.html) , [Outreach](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/86278.html),  [Arrangements](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/90751.html), [Stolen Illusions](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/92597.html)

  


  


[](http://pics.livejournal.com/fragrantwoods/pic/0001thhd/)   
  
  
  
Laura was still on bereavement leave, but that didn’t stop her from getting up a few minutes before sunrise each day. She’d be back in her office on Monday…no point in getting used to an extra half-hour of sleep on a weekday. She had just started the coffee when her doorbell rang. She thought about trying to find her shoes from wherever she’d kicked them off, then shrugged. She was doing enough by stripping off her nightgown and tugging on jeans and a sweatshirt as soon as she got out of bed. There had been too many unexpected people at her door lately to get comfortable relaxing in a gown and bathrobe anymore.

She looked through the peephole at the white-uniformed man on her doorstep. He was tall, with close-cropped dark hair, a friendly mouth and slightly nervous eyes, his hands occupied by something just out of her line of sight. He didn’t look like someone who would be bringing her more bad news, she decided, as she started unlocking the door until only the chain lock was left.

“Yes?”

“Miss Roslin?”

“I’m Laura Roslin.” She looked him up and down, wondering what was in the bulky package.

“I need to speak to you about your father, Ma’am. If I could come in…?”

_Godsdamnit, Daddy, would you please just frakking stop?_

“Certainly.”

She closed the door and unhooked the chain, then opened the door again. It crossed her mind that she should ask for more information, for identification, then realized she had lost faith in ID papers. She realized she didn’t really care anymore as she held the door wide and ushered him in.

“Miss Roslin, I have something for you.”

She looked at his uniform again. He looked like just a commercial pilot, no insignia of law enforcement or military.

“Do you have any…oh, hell…do you just have a name?”

He looked at her uncertainly, and she was vaguely conscious that her response had been rude. He focused on the package in his hands, unwrapping the triangular shape.

“My name isn't important, Ma’am. I was just asked to give you this.”

The man’s light brown eyes moved away from her as he seemed to be preparing to give a memorized speech. He finished unwrapping the package and she recognized the wooden triangular box, the glass showing the blue, white and gold of the Colonial flag.

He cleared his throat.

"This flag is presented with the gratitude of the Twelve Colonies and the Colonial Fleet in appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service."

She kept her hands at her sides. “I don’t understand. My father wasn’t in the military.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He lost some of his rigidity. “It would be best if you didn’t display this openly…but it was felt that you should have some token of the gratitude many of us feel for your father’s service.”

She stood there, trying to process what she was hearing, hoping for some clarity even as she doubted she’d get it. “Can I know what kind of service he was supposed to have done?”

He reached down and held her hand for a second. He’s shaking almost as much as I am, she thought, as he pulled her hand towards the box.

“I can’t give you that information, Ma’am. And believe me, I am so sorry about that.”

He has kind eyes, she thought, as wooden edges pressed into her hand. The weight of the box suddenly increased as he let go, and she grabbed the corner of the box with her other hand.

She looked down at the folded flag, barely aware he had turned towards the door.

“Wait a minute! You’re telling me things that are turning everything I know upside down. Can you at least tell me who the frak you are?” She hated hearing her voice escalating, taking on that screechy note that her mother had tried to discourage.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Roslin.” He stepped out the door and closed it behind him.

The flag was so tightly folded, it kept its shape even after the frame was broken in three places and the glass was shattered in a halo around the fabric. She wondered later, after she had stopped crying and was sweeping the glass shards into a dustpan, if the man had been out of earshot when the glass case hit the door. She hoped so. He’d seemed decent enough, like he really regretted the things he couldn’t say.

One glass of wine down, Laura carefully lifted the heavy triangle and took it to her bedroom, shoving it under her bed. There had been no nameplate, no engraving on the box. She could almost pretend that this had nothing to do with her father, if her mind would just loosen its grasp a little on all the hints and lies that kept whirling around. She felt like a child who had been told not to think about an elephant, and now she had elephants on the brain. She had a mental picture of an elephant in a giant hamster cage and giggled while she wondered, on some level, if she were starting to lose her mind.

Halfway through the second glass of wine, she went to her closet and  began rummaging through her dressy clutch purse, the one she carried for special occasions. _Call my office_ , he had said, as he handed the embossed card to her. _I’ll be starting my campaign soon …and the office of Mayor is just the beginning._

_I don’t know anything about politics_ , she had told him.

_You don’t strike me as someone afraid of trying something new_.

She carried the card over to the phone, finishing the wine and shaking a long cigarette out of a new pack. She struck a match and lit up, pulling a crystal ashtray in front of her. She drew a deep lungful of smoke and slowly blew it out of her nostrils, staring at the card while she punched in the numbers.

“Richard Adar’s office. How may I direct your call?”

She tapped the ash off the end of her cigarette. Daddy always hated seeing me smoke, she thought idly.

“Mr. Adar, please. Tell him it’s Laura Roslin. I’m calling about his campaign.”

_Time for something new._

  


  



	23. Time, Trouble

Title: Time, Trouble

Author: [](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/profile)[ **fragrantwoods**](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/)  
Rating: T   
Word Count: 1880  
Follows the following AU drabbles and stories  
  
[The Old Man, the Old Lady](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/368775.html) , [Running Late](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387740.html) .[If He'd Only Known...](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387991.html), [Presidential Abstinence](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/439867.html), [Driving Lessons](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/440161.html), ["Let Me Go Crazy"](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/442211.html), [Autumn Leaves](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77356.html), [Ivy Covered Hallowed Halls](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77703.html) , [Separate Lives](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/448079.html), [Dotted Line](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/78706.html), [Coming to the Table](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/78924.html), [Memories of Sweeter Days](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/79512.html), [Time Machine](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/79649.html) , ["Long and Low and Sleek and Fast"](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/82217.html) , [Anything for Love](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83334.html) , [Community Roots, Rotten](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83592.html),  [I'd Lie for You(and That's the Truth)](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83867.html),  [Shame at the Gate](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/84345.html) ,  ["One Wing in the Fire"](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/84582.html) , [Outreach](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/86278.html),  [Arrangements](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/90751.html), [Stolen Illusions](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/92597.html). [Something New](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/93025.html)

  


[](http://pics.livejournal.com/fragrantwoods/pic/0001thhd/)

 

 

 

Thanks to Richard Adar, Laura had finally run out of time.

She’d run out of time to think about her family until the grief knocked her winding, out of time to push and pull at snippets of facts and hints about her father’s secrets. Run out of time to wonder what had happened to that sweet young soldier who had stayed on her mind for twenty-five years, to wonder if she ever knew him at all.

All she had time for these days was to get through the daily grind of local school board machinations and then switch gears to work on Richard’s next campaign. Most of the time, she was okay with her life these days. She certainly wouldn’t say she was unhappy.

Not exactly.

Her brother-in-law’s remarriage stung a little. She had said all the right things: she hoped he’d be happy, it had been over a year, Cheryl would have wanted him to move on…neither said a word about her not being invited to the wedding. She guessed it would have been awkward for his new bride. Laura shut her mental door on him as soon as she got up from the table at Cheryl’s favorite restaurant, the last time she figured they’d meet for her sister’s birthday and to celebrate her life.

There hadn’t been any mysterious callers since the young man who had brought her the flag of the Twelve Colonies, thank the Gods. She’d replaced the glass and glued the frame into shape, carefully sealing the flag inside again. Then she’d put it at the back of her closet shelf, the one she needed a step-ladder to reach. Out of sight, out of mind, she told herself.

She started going to some of the local Caprica City art shows on the weekend. She liked the young artists, the ones who remembered when the new art programs had started in the schools. As the months passed and the seasons changed, her finds of water-color seascapes and detailed wildflowers in forests took the place of family pictures.

One or two formal family portraits stayed on her bookshelf, but the candid ones, the ones that showed her, her father, and Bill as they really were…she had found herself staring at these for far too long, trying to decide what was real and what was artifice. The day she found herself looking at a snapshot of her mother, wondering how much she had known, she gathered the pictures and boxed them up. They kept the folded flag company.

Richard was considerate, she thought. Seeing how she threw herself into his on-going campaigns, he insisted on having his lawn maintenance guy go to her Dad’s house every other week to keep the lawn cut and the hedges trimmed. It was hard to sell a house with an overgrown yard, he had told her. She wondered if he realized she had taken it off the market after a few months. Like the pictures and flag, she didn’t want to see it, but she wasn’t quite ready to get rid of it just yet.

Looking in the mirror as she changed from her school superintendent suit to the deep green sheath dress she’d picked for that evening’s fundraiser, she decided that he had noticed she wasn’t trying to sell the house, and was okay with that. Richard stayed incredibly busy, too, but he didn’t miss much. He certainly hadn’t missed her association with Bill Adama. He’d made that clear midway through his campaign for Mayor. She remembered that conversation word for word, even now.

***********************  


“Don’t worry about it, Laura. It just came up when your references were checked for the superintendent position.”

“That was years ago, Richard. I don’t understand why that would even be an issue.”

“It’s not a problem, really. It wouldn’t have come up at all except the previous superintendent was singing your praises for volunteering to take the Adama boys to see their Dad in prison. She thought it was very kind of you to do that.”

She had toyed with her pasta at the little restaurant that had suddenly seemed too small and cramped as she briefly described Lee’s struggles as a boy.

“And, in the interests of full disclosure, Bill Adama worked on my father’s car over the years, as well.” She had hoped the candle’s flickering light gave her reddening cheeks some camouflage.

“Well, that doesn’t sound too bad. Your father always had a soft spot for veterans. I remember a couple of letters, character references, coming across my desk in the DA’s office when a vet’s hearing was coming up.” He had chuckled. “I always thought he was a little misguided, but his heart seemed to be in the right place.”

She’d raised her glass of red wine to her lips then, hiding the sad smile that threatened to emerge.  “Yeah, my Dad was always kind of naïve.”

Plates cleared, she’d looked at her watch, figuring she could go back to campaign headquarters, get in another hour of voter research before calling it a night.

Richard had laughed. “Do you ever want to do anything besides work, Laura? I know I could sure use some down time.” His hand had barely started grazing hers when she pulled it away.

“I like to stay busy, Richard. It keeps me out of trouble.”

**********************************************

She fastened her earrings and pulled her hair back into a silver and bronze clip low on her neck. She would have liked to have left her hair loose, but thought it might be a little jarring to attendees who had gotten used to seeing her as the superintendent of schools for Caprica City. Soon, she thought, she’d consider the position Richard was offering her at the Ministry of Education. It would mean working more closely with him, she knew…and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. He wasn’t unattractive at all…which could become a problem, if she didn’t stay focused on juggling her job and his campaign management. And then there was his marriage….She had been down that path before, but that had been different, the last bloom of a first love. There wouldn't be any love this time. She wouldn't allow it. She knew the warning signs...she wouldn't let things get out of control.

Laura slicked on some lipstick and checked herself in the mirror one last time, running through a mental checklist of the potential donors she’d need to make sure she talked to, the points she wanted to cover with each of them.

She hoped staying busy would continue to keep her out of trouble, she thought, as she stepped out into the evening air and walked to the waiting car.

**************************************************

Richard Adar brushed his teeth again, and wondered if it was his imagination that made him feel like he still had her taste on his lips. He grinned to his reflection. He hadn't dared to even try to envision this scene back when he’d started flirting with her over dinner all those months ago.

Richard still remembered that conversation, trying to feel her out about her old connections over pasta and red wine. He had felt himself falling for her a little as she talked about staying out of trouble, even though she had gently shut him down.

He smiled and opened the bathroom door for second, watching her doze. She was all wrapped up in the sheets, curled in on herself like she was trying to make her body as small as possible. Richard quietly went about the business of dressing again, closing the door of the tiny hotel bathroom and tying his tie in front of the mirror.

She hadn’t lied about liking to stay busy. She’d managed the superintendent’s job as well as worked on his campaign up until he’d decided to run for higher office. Laura had agreed, then, to take a position at the Ministry of Education that would allow her to work more closely with him. Her zeal towards education reform could only help his standing with the academic community and with parents of school-aged children throughout the Colonies, he’d figured.

He’d been a bit surprised at how quickly she’d gotten a handle on meshing political realties with educational policy. He’d started to look to her instead of the Secretary of Education when the Teachers’ Union brought their issues to his office. Richard smiled to himself. That hadn’t been the only surprise.

They had been in his office, wound up tight over whether the new school system budget would pass as presented or if the Caprican legislature would send it back for more proposed cuts. The late-night news that the budget would be adopted as presented had made them practically giddy with relief.

Midway through their celebratory hug, he realized that they were alone in his office, and the usually stand-offish Laura Roslin was not pulling back from him this time. He had risked touching her further down her back, down to her waist. When he turned and brushed his lips over her cheek, sill keeping things in the realm of colleagues getting a bit carried away, she had turned as well, lips meeting and opening under his. As her fingers had flexed and gripped the back of his neck, he realized they were stepping into new territory. And once his fingers were under her ice blue blouse and skimming under the lace of her bra, there’d been no turning back.

Later, as Laura had slipped her shoes back on and finished buttoning her cuffs, she had told him this really shouldn’t happen again. And it didn’t…until he came home one too many times to find his wife out drinking with her friends, sneering at his latest political victory when he called her. His house had been cold and empty that night, and Laura had been calm and sympathetic when he had phoned and asked if he could come over.

Maybe she’d been cold and empty herself that night, he reflected. They didn’t talk about it much. Not that night, and not the nights that followed. They talked more about their work together, making plans for their people, for the next campaign, never for themselves.

_I like to stay busy. It keeps me out of trouble._

He tugged his collar straight and then reached for his comb. The public had gotten used to seeing them together at Caprica City functions a couple of times a month. Even his wife had stopped commenting on the time he and Laura spent together. And it helped that Laura didn’t seem to need tokens of his affection, or make a big deal about spending holidays and birthdays together.

He walked back into the bedroom and stood over her, admiring the curve of her back, the sweep of her sleep-tangled hair against the pillow. For just a moment, he wondered what it would be like to see her lost to emotion: laughing until her sides hurt, sobbing over her lost loved ones, or completely, selfishly losing herself in out-of-control passion.  Richard shook his head as he watched her pull further into herself in her sleep. He couldn’t imagine Laura Roslin out of control over anything.  He bent down and kissed her cheek, then walked quietly to the door and let himself out.

  



	24. Patch Party

Title: Patch Party

Author: [](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/profile)[ **fragrantwoods**](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/)  
Rating: T   
Word Count: 2000  
Follows the following AU drabbles and stories  
  
[The Old Man, the Old Lady](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/368775.html) , [Running Late](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387740.html) .[If He'd Only Known...](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/387991.html), [Presidential Abstinence](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/439867.html), [Driving Lessons](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/440161.html), ["Let Me Go Crazy"](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/442211.html), [Autumn Leaves](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77356.html), [Ivy Covered Hallowed Halls](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/77703.html) , [Separate Lives](http://ar-drabbles.livejournal.com/448079.html), [Dotted Line](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/78706.html), [Coming to the Table](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/78924.html), [Memories of Sweeter Days](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/79512.html), [Time Machine](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/79649.html) , ["Long and Low and Sleek and Fast"](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/82217.html) , [Anything for Love](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83334.html) , [Community Roots, Rotten](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83592.html),  [I'd Lie for You(and That's the Truth)](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/83867.html),  [Shame at the Gate](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/84345.html) ,  ["One Wing in the Fire"](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/84582.html) , [Outreach](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/86278.html),  [Arrangements](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/90751.html), [Stolen Illusions](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/92597.html). [Something New](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/93025.html),  [Time, Trouble](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/93635.html)

  


 

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/fragrantwoods/pic/0001thhd/)

 

The air near the ceiling was thick with cigar smoke and the sweet-musty smell of Aerilonian weed, a slowly turning ceiling fan lazily cutting through the haze. A low chatter filled the room until the gavel fell. Then the club meeting room “church” became as quiet as the real thing.

“Old business?”  Bill put the gavel down and looked around the carved table.

“Helo,” Lee said from his seat at his father’s left. The Vice President shuffled through the notes in front of him. “He’s been a prospect for one year, everybody says he’s followed the rules, done everything we’ve asked him to do, shown initiative but always cleared his plans with one of the Club officers. I move we patch him in.”

“Dues paid up?” Bill looked at Galen and nodded at the ledger in front of him. 

“Never missed once, Bill,” the Treasurer said.

“I second Lee’s motion,” Saul said, from his Sergeant at Arms’ position to Bill’s right.

“All in favor?”

The room filled with “Ayes” and the gavel fell. 

“Saul, tell your old lady to set up a patch party Friday.”

Everyone at the table grinned. Ellen Tigh could be counted on to put together a wild party with plenty of talent from her staff of exotic dancers. Bill’s was the only smile that seemed a bit forced.

“New business?”

No one spoke.

“Okay,” he continued. “A couple of items…we patch in Helo, we lose him in the front office of the shop. One of our brothers in the Delphi chapter has a nephew he’s asked us to consider as a prospect. Guy’s a genius with organization and computers, including hacking.”

Saul snorted. “Sounds like a bad-ass, all right. Zeus, we patching in MBAs now?”

“You volunteering to appraise real estate deals and form shell corporations, Saul?” Bill hushed the snickers in the room with a look, then turned back to his Sergeant at Arms.

 “That what we’re coming to? Frakking businessmen at the table?” Saul grumbled to himself as he ground out his cigar.

“Saul, we need to build the legit side of the club. And a hacker in-house could be useful.” Lee leaned back in his chair and glanced at his father with a raised eyebrow.

Bill looked at his VP, glad for his son’s support. “I’ve already told his uncle he’ll need to bring in his own hardened computer, keep it separate from our stand-alones. He can ride, but I think his main use to the club will be in other ways.”

Saul shrugged. “Frak…fine with me to bring him in for a meet. This joker got a name?”

Bill nodded at the men around the table. “I’m taking that as a second. Guy’s name is Felix Gaeta. Ayes?”

The vote was unanimous. Bill’s gavel came down with a loud “So Say We All” and the men began to rise from their seats and file out of the room.

“Dad? Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Son, if it’s club business, you shoulda brought it up in church.”

Lee fidgeted with the beer bottle in front of him. “I’m not sure where it falls yet. There’s a nomad Tauron Outlaw in town, says he left Caprica in good standing with the club.” Lee’s jaw was slightly jutted as he planted his arms flat on the table and met his father’s eyes. 

Bill felt his stomach clench. Back then, he hadn’t had the control over the club that he had now. He should have cast the asshole out of the Outlaws for good after he found out about Carolanne. In the end, though, he’d had to admit that Tom Zarek had betrayed him personally, not the Outlaws. He’d told himself that he could live with Zarek wearing the Tauron Outlaw colors as long as he didn’t have to see him. 

"Your mother put you up to this, Lee?"

“Frak, no. They haven’t been together for years.” Lee leaned forward as he pressed his case. “Zarek’s got some business he’d bring with him. And he’s a demolitions guy. We need a replacement for Flashbang.”

Bill frowned at his son. “Is Zarek still running Stimdust for Phalen? You know how I feel about that.”

“He’s keeping it out of Caprica City, Dad. It’s mostly runs between Saggitaron and Tauron.” 

_ If we don’t do it, somebody else will. _ “Bring this to the table next week, see what the others say. If he comes back in, he can wear the colors, he can speak his piece at the table…but he’s not getting a vote.” He trimmed the end of a cigar he’d picked from the box on the table, taking his time lighting it as Lee waited. After the first drag of sweet smoke, he blew it out of the side of his mouth and continued.

“You in touch with Zarek?”

Lee was having trouble meeting his eyes. ”We talk once in a while.”

Looking up at the ceiling, Bill debated with himself on the wisdom of going further, then gave in to the hollow echoes of past anger.  
  
“You know he was banging your mother while I was inside, right? Both times, if my memory's correct.”

Redness starting coloring Lee’s neck. “At least he was _around._ At least he’d try to get her calmed down when she went off on one of her rages, _Dad._ ” Bill could see his son’s own rage start to pull his words tight and sharp. 

What’s one more deal with the devil, he told himself. “You’re the VP, Lee. Bring this to the table…I won’t vote against it.” He got up, putting the gavel on its stand. “Get with Saul’s old lady about Helo's patch party. There should be something on the menu besides liquor and strippers.” He walked to the door separating the hallowed meeting room from the raucous bar lounge that formed the middle area of the clubhouse, Lee following in his wake.

Bill slammed the door behind them and looked out over the common room. Two of his Outlaws were flirting with a couple of blonde hang-arounds in shorts and tank tops, the girls keeping the men’s glasses filled and their laps warm. 

Lee seemed to sense that his father’s tension had dropped a bit. “You know, Dad, if you had your own old lady, you wouldn’t have to worry about Ellen being so… _Ellen_ about club functions.”

“Don’t start, Lee.” He motioned for one of the girls to bring him a cold beer. “And this party…talk to Zak about coming. The members need to start seeing him as more than just your little brother.”

Lee caught the girl’s eye and gestured for her to make it two. “You sure that’s a good idea, Dad? He’s never been as interested in club business as you and me.”

Bill took the icy mug and nodded his thanks at the girl as she went back to the bar.  
  
“He’s an Adama. He’ll do fine.”

***************************************************

Bill looked out at the parking lot filling up with bikes. He picked out the visitors from other clubs: a couple of Sons of Vulcan, three Poseidon’s Riders from Picon…strong clubs with strong ties of alliance. Days like this, he felt like everything he’d given up was almost worth it. 

The sun was going down as he watched from the bulletproof window of the club meeting room. Long shadows were cast across the pavement; hard-looking men, some with their women, walked between the dark and the light areas as they talked. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding as his younger son roared up, an unfamiliar guy following him into the lot on an almost over-customized bike. The guy pulled to a showy skidding stop next to Zak, mouth wide with laughter, and unstrapped the minimal helmet.

Bill snorted in surprise. The “guy” was a girl. A girl with short blond hair and a badass swagger as she walked up to Zak, pulling off her gloves and playfully punching his arm. He chuckled as he watched. Maybe Zak had more Outlaw in him than he thought.

Four hours, several  gallons of whiskey, beer, and a few impromptu pole dances by Ellen’s girls later, Bill motioned Saul into the church and pulled out a couple of chairs at the long table. The quiet after the heavy reinforced door swung shut was almost jolting. He waited until Saul lit up one of his rank cigars.

“Helo’s a good pick, Bill. I like his old lady, too…the little brunette from Troy, right? Looks like a keeper.”

Bill nodded. “Always changes men a little once they’re wearing their cut for real. Helo’s gonna be a real asset to the club.”

Saul smiled in agreement, then looked at the glowing end of his cigar for a second, all expression leaving his face. “You seen that asshole Zarek yet?”

“No. He’s keeping his distance, hitting on the girls young enough to be his kid, Galen told me.”

“That’s not all, Bill. He’s hanging around Zak and that delinquent he brought.”

“Delinquent? The blonde with her own bike?”

“Frak, _yes_ , delinquent! Been doing shots of rotgut like it was water, got on the pole at least once on a dare, and so far, been in two fistfights. I hope Zak knows what he’s doing…that one’s crazy.”

“Saul…man, maybe you’re just getting too frakking old to have a good time.”

Saul snorted, taking a long pull on his cigar and blowing it out slowly. He looked up at the Colonial flag on the wall and smirked. “That’s not what Ellen says.”

Bill rolled his eyes. ”At least not to your face.” He leaned back in his chair. “So, you meet the new prospect yet?” 

“That Felix kid? Yeah, he poured me a couple shots, broke up the fight with Zak’s girl and one of the strippers when I told him to. Seems okay…he can take a punch without backing down or going nutso.”

Grinding out his spent cigar, Saul gave Bill a sidelong glance. “Say, you ever see that girl you used to be sweet on? Roslin’s oldest kid?”

Bill straightened in his chair, then got to his feet, looking down at his SAA. “No, not in a long time. How come?”

Saul rose as well. “I heard some Colonial Secret Service assholes asking around some of the businesses in town…did she come around here, who she associated with when she was in the neighborhood…stuff like that.”

“Probably getting some kind of security clearance. She was pretty active in Adar’s campaigns…maybe he’s got a position for her in his cabinet or something.”

Saul started snickering. “Yeah, I bet he’s got a position for her, if she looks anything like she used to—" His snickering was choked off as Bill grabbed the fraying collar of his shirt.

“Don’t you ever disrespect Laura Roslin in front of me again, Saul. She’s doing good things with her life, and as long as I’m president, you consider her a friend of the club. Even if we never lay eyes on her again.” He shook his head as he let go of his friend’s shirt.

“Gods, Bill…she dumped you out of her life like last week’s garbage! She’s part of the Godsdamn government now… you’re gonna lay hands on a brother over a frakking woman who’s written you off?”

He adjusted his collar, rubbing at his neck. “This kinda shit is why you need an old lady.”

Bill shrugged. “I’ve got everything I need. The boys, the club…what it is that we do...I’m good.”

“Well, you’re the Pres...you know best, I guess.” He looked down at his hands. “You don’t think it’ll be a problem, though…a security detail sniffing around you because of her?”

Bill thought of the hands any report would have to pass through in the course of vetting Laura for security clearance. One pair of hands in that chain of command still had battle scars received as Bill’s young, scared gunny a lifetime ago. 

“No. I don’t think it’ll be a problem at all.” He slung an arm around Saul’s shoulders. “C’mon, brother, let’s re-join the party.”

  


  



	25. Post-Campaign Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Past and present bump up against each other as Richard Adar goes over security photos...

The lights were hot and bright in the convention center hall. Tired supporters with colored ribbons and confident placards were now renewed, bursting with energy as the final counts were electronically tallied. The race was done: Richard Adar was the next President-elect.

Laura’s cheeks were aching from smiling all night. It had been a good campaign, she thought, and she felt a flash of pride that she’d made it to the finish line, even with her work load increasing as the Secretary of Education had edged closer and closer to retirement. For months, her nights had been filled with catch-up work from her (and her boss’s) office, occasionally spiced with unexpected but welcome hours with Richard.

She had gotten used to looking out hotel windows afterwards and seeing two cars pull away; one with Richard and his driver, one for his security detail. Sometimes she would look at the faces of the black-suited men who hovered near his office, trying to see if there would be a spark of recognition, of judgment. There never was, and she eventually stopped looking, letting them recede into the background of her and Richard’s outside relationship.

She stood at a respectable distance as President-elect Adar hugged his wife at the podium before launching into his acceptance speech. She surreptitiously checked her watch. Forty-five seconds of thanking “the love of my life, my biggest supporter", one and a half minutes of thanking the voters, two minutes of reiterating his immediate promises and plans after being sworn in as the new President of the Twelve Colonies, one minute of bipartisan reconciliation, and finally, fifteen seconds of thanks to all those who had worked tirelessly on his campaign.

She pushed the grin a little wider as she began to applaud along with the crowd. Her real thanks would come later, she thought. She wondered about herself sometimes, why it never really bothered her to see Richard and his wife in public, looking so close and happy these days. The thought ran through her mind that maybe she was secretly part Cylon and didn’t know it, like the late-night horror stories she and her roommates would tell in her dorm room when they were all a little stoned and giggly. That thought made her want to break into giggles right there on the stage, as she bit the inside of her cheek and tried to get herself under control. She glanced towards the forest of microphones and cameras from the news agencies and wondered if Bill was watching television tonight.

She suddenly didn’t feel like giggling anymore.

 

Three days later, she and Richard were finally able to steal some time alone. The days had been a flurry of transitional planning sessions and meetings as Richard prepared to become the most powerful man in the Colonies. Laura found new chunks of time during her day as the campaign apparatus was dismantled. Free time, she thought wryly. What’s that going to be like? She examined Richard’s face and saw that some of the harsh lines in his face had softened, the dark circles under his eyes a bit lighter than they had been a week earlier.

“You look ten years younger, Richard. Winning agrees with you.” She smiled as she went into his arms and let herself relax into his kiss as his hand cupped her shoulder.

“Thanks, hon. I think we’re all trying to catch up on our rest.” He tugged her down to the couch in his private side office. “You ready?” He looked like he was about to burst with a happy surprise, but there was a hint of worry-wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

“For what?” she said with a smile, her eyes trying to read the concern in his.

“Your appointment, Madam Secretary.” He handed her the large manila envelope with a flourish.

She began opening the metal clasp, hands shaking slightly. “Thank you, Mr. President.”

He put an arm around her as they sat side by side, reading the formal document appointing Laura Roslin as the new Secretary of Education. ”It won’t be official until I’m sworn in, but it’s practically ready to go.”

_Practically?_

“Richard, I thought you said—“

“I know, I know. The Secret Service wanted to clarify a couple of points with your security clearance. As soon as that’s taken care of, I’ll sign it.”

The room seemed to get a few degrees colder. “What do you mean, a couple of points? I had a background check done before I became superintendent of schools. You saw that when I joined your campaign...we even talked about it, remember?”

He pulled his arm from her shoulder and turned to face her. “Laura, did your father ever do any work for the Defense Department? Any consulting or anything?”

She kept her face immobile, trying to hide her surprise. “Not that I know of. He never told me anything like that. Why?”

Richard took her hand, holding it with a light grasp that was a shade different from his usual firm touch. “Well, there may be some discrepancies in your father’s records. Things like a man he roomed with after college says he has no recollection of your Dad. And his last resume listed a couple of years teaching at an academy that they couldn’t find a record of ever existing.”

Laura pulled her hand back, hiding the slight shaking by resting it firmly on her thigh. “Richard, that must have been…that was over forty years ago! My Gods, are they going back to before the War?”

“I know…” he said in soothing tones. “I told them it’s probably due to records getting blasted during the fighting. And just this week, one of the officers in charge of the archives says he knew your Dad personally and would swear that there was no irregularities whatsoever in his history.”

“Well, there you go, then.” She leaned back and tried not to think of lockboxes and flags. The closeness they shared in their occasional trysts had never risen to the level of comfort she would have needed to share her father’s secrets, even if she could have spared the time.

He ran his fingers lightly along her shoulder. “Personally, I think the Service got a little uncomfortable about your Adama association.”

She stiffened slightly against his touch. “Richard, not that again. We’ve been over that.”

His hazel eyes grew hooded as he studied her face. “I know. That’s part of the problem as well. When we talked about this before, you didn’t mention you had been in a romantic relationship with him.”

She could feel her face staring to flush. “That was one summer, after I graduated from high school, Richard. I can’t believe—“

“A teenage summer fling, and taking his kids to see him…a few tire changes and tune-ups…that’s it?” He looked so earnest, she thought, although she didn’t miss the beginning edge of suspicion in his question. _He wants that to be the truth so much, but there’s something in the way_... She searched her memory for anything else that might have popped up. She doubted anyone knew about the break-in; she had seen the officer shred the forms after she told him she wouldn’t press charges. And she was sure no one knew about the one accidental meeting that night she was grieving again for her mother….

 _Grieving. Of course_. She sighed with relief as a plausible explanation for his suspicion came to her.

“Richard, I didn’t even think of this until just now. I’d been such a wreck back then…but Bill Adama did help me with my father and sisters’ funerals. My Dad had named him to be one of the pallbearers. It was—I was…” her voice trailed off as she tried to find the words to describe her horror at their deaths.

Her eyes began welling up as he drew her close again, all distance between them seemingly obliterated.

“Gods, Laura, thank you so much for telling me this. I didn’t know what to think, trying to remember what you’d told me, comparing it to the reports I was seeing…I’m so glad you decided to not hold anything back.”

"I have to say, Richard, this seems a little extreme for security clearance for Secretary of Education." She pulled back and searched his expression. "This isn't about the appointment, is it? All this concern about my background, my family...this is about us. About you."

He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, whether from emotion or tiredness, she couldn’t tell. “Presidential Security was this close to telling me they couldn’t support my continuing to…spend private time with you if you weren’t honest about this, on top of the questions they had about your father.” He opened his briefcase in front of him and took out a handful of photographs.

There were five shots of Bill with his arm around her at her father and sisters’ funeral. All looked like they’d been taken with a long-range lens.

“These showed up after the new security clearance had started. Somebody left them on the administrative assistant’s desk before she arrived for work.” Cautious relief was all over his face.

Laura ran her fingers over the prints. “I can’t imagine why someone would take shots of my Dad’s funeral, but that’s what this was. He was just being a good friend.”

Richard stood up, already beginning to strive for a Presidential demeanor. “I get it, Laura…I really do. I’ve got friends from the old neighborhood myself. But this guy and his gang are dangerous associates. He’s a convicted felon and there’s a lot of speculation in the Caprica City PD and the DA’s office about what the Tauron Outlaws are into. For your upcoming position, for me…promise me you’ll stay away from him.”

She stood as well and took his hands in hers. “Of course I promise, Richard. Why wouldn’t I?”

She looked down at the manila envelope still on the couch, her appointment papers peeking out of the top. She was almost positive she was telling the truth. She ignored the faint clenching in her chest as she thought about Richard’s request. She could do this, she told herself.

_Why would she ever need to see Bill Adama again?_


	26. A Likely Prospect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tauron Outlaws need some new members with particular skill sets...and a young man with dark curls looks like a likely prospect.

Most of the club officers ignored the television behind the bar as they sauntered past, the volume turned down on another soundbite of Adar going on about striding boldly into a bright, forward-looking future, according to the words at the bottom of the screen. 

Saul glared at the television for a second before holding his hand out for a cold bottle. “Why don’t you find another channel before the Old Man comes through, kid? Try the Triad tournament on channel 12.”

“Another one here, Sparky,” Bill said as he walked up behind Saul, glancing up at the silenced scene of card players around a fancy felt table. Drinks in hand, they went into the inner sanctum of the club and shut the door behind them.

The other officers were already gathered near the head of the massive carved table. They were slapping each other’s backs and talking trash while they settled themselves in their seats, some lighting stogies or home-rolled smokes, beer bottles hissing as they were popped open. At Bill’s nod, Saul went to the massive door and opened it, waving the waiting man inside. The chatter ebbed as Saul returned to his Sergeant at Arms seat and re-lit his cigar. All eyes focused on the now-familiar figure standing before them, holding sheaves of rolled-up papers in his arms.

The leather vest with cut-off sleeves and a rocker patch reading “PROSPECT” on the back looked incongruous on the olive-skinned man with jet-black curls and a finely chiseled mouth…until you got to the eyes. Then it became clear that the inked panther on his arm was more totem than decoration. He wouldn’t have been a pilot or a gunner back in the war, not this guy, thought Bill. He’d have been tactical, acquiring targets and plotting moves with quiet stealth for others to execute.

Felix Gaeta had been sequestered for the past few weeks in one of the crash rooms at the back of the clubhouse, burning up his laptop as he worked a search grid over a geo-map of Caprica. Every week, before church, before the meeting room was packed with the rank and file, the club officers gathered as he brought in spreadsheets and maps, pages of printed data…and prices. He rode the men’s learning curve with finesse, watching Bill for signs that he was moving too fast, or lagging behind their impatience.

“What’ve you got for us this time, Prospect?” Saul had stopped mocking Gaeta after the first couple of weeks, and his question was tinged with uncharacteristic respect.

Gaeta looked up at Bill as he spread out the map at the head of the table. “Shall I start?”

“Go ahead, Gaeta.”

Bill watched the slight nervousness of the young man dissipate as he picked up ashtrays to hold the map flat and checked the circled areas against the list in his hand, muttering coordinates to himself as he made final pencil marks here and there. Lee and Galen were focused on the map already as the other men leaned forward, questioning eyes on the young man.

Gaeta cleared his throat and began. Bill had to tell him to bottom-line what he was saying a couple of times, but as he finished and asked for questions, even Saul was nodding his head.

“So tell me again why this parcel is so cheap?” Saul growled at the map like it was a trick.

“Well, besides being isolated and 98 klicks from the nearest population center, it’s land-locked. There’s no road going from a public highway to the property. The seller has agreed to allow the buyer access through his land.” Gaeta straightened and looked at Bill, as if waiting for permission to deliver bad news. At Bill’s nod, he continued.

“The thing is, he could change his mind, and the buyer would have no legal right to access his own property without the seller’s permission.”

Bill and Saul looked at each other across the table.

“By the time we need it, property rights won’t be an issue,” Bill said quietly.

“Got that right.” Saul tapped the ashes off the end of his cigar.

“It’s got the features you asked for, Mr. Adama. There’s an underground water source, it’s heavily wooded, there’s a high ridge on the property…it’s”—his nervous swallow was audible as he looked at the tableful of grim, aging men—“it’s defensible, in my opinion.”

Bill looked around the room at his officers, his original members. “All in favor?”

He could see the wheels turning in every head at the table. This purchase was different from the guns, the ordnance they’d been running and buying for so long. This buy…this would make it all real.

One by one, he watched the men who had ridden with him for years raise their hands and reach into an unknowable future. They weren’t just voting on a club buy. They were voting on their belief of the shape of things to come. Finally, with a mixture of emotions playing across each weathered face, man after man met his look and gave him a solemn “aye”.

“Opposed?”

After holding the silence for a beat, he tapped his gavel as a formality. “The ayes have it. That’s parcel number one.” He pointed his gavel at Gaeta."You got everything you need on this?"

Gaeta nodded. “I’ll draw up the offer. Now, this next one…”

By the time they were ready to open their weekly church, four new parcels of land in different locations over Caprica had been identified and agreed upon. Each parcel had key features in common: they were isolated and hard to get to, at least eighty kilometers from the nearest city, had a water source and lots of natural cover. The process became easier as the men grew more used to the commitments they were making. Bill doubted he’d live to see even a fraction of their new properties, but that was fine. They weren’t for him; they would be for others.

For survivors.

“Gaeta, get with Galen about the money.” He glanced up at his treasurer. “Galen, the other clubs have made their deposits for this, right?”

Galen pulled a print-out from thick account ledger and scanned it again carefully. “Yeah, boss. The MCs in Phoebus wired their share in last night.”

”You got civvies?” Bill looked over the rim of his glasses at the young man in the plain leather vest.

Gaeta’s increased ease in the group was apparent in his relaxed grin. “Sure, Mr. Adama. I’ve even got a three piece suit, somewhere.”

“Don’t get crazy. Just wear something that looks like a civilian would wear on a Saturday. A civilian with money.” He looked over at his son. “Lee, get his picture and do up an ID that says he’s a resident of Delphi.” He turned back to Gaeta. “And kid…for frak’s sake, call me Bill.”

The members ambled out of the large room at the end of the meeting, a couple of the newer members getting silenced by Lee for questioning what the Prospect was doing in the pre-meeting. Saul closed the door on the chatter and sat down next to Bill.

“You got a timeline for this?” All crude joviality had left him, and he reminded Bill of the young warrior he had been years ago.

“No. But it’s coming. You know who Gaius Baltar is? Dr. Gaius Baltar?” Bill pronounced the name with deliberate contempt.

“That whiz-kid genius asshole scientist? The one who started the Caprica City VA Riots?”

“That’s him. Word is, he’s got a contract to upgrade the Colonial Defense system.” Bill tried to keep the dread out of his voice, but he could tell by Saul’s face that the feeling was shared.

Saul chewed on this for a few seconds before he spoke again.“Frak me…what the frak does he know about defense? And why now?”

Bill walked over to the window, hands in his pockets as he looked up at the sky. “The chickens, Saul. The chickens Mr. Roslin told me about before he died…” He glanced at the closed door then looked back at Saul.

“I think we’re getting closer to the day those chickens come home to roost.”

Saul returned his solemn look. “What you’re saying, Bill, you—us, going up against a guy with Baltar’s cred…you think we’ll be believed when the time comes?”

“All I can do is offer the proof I’ve been given over the years. It was good enough for me, for you, for Cottle and the rest of the originals.”

Saul nodded thoughtfully. “Day’s coming soon when you’ll need to tell Lee and the others everything.”

“I know.” Bill shook his head, suddenly tired of long-range plans and plotting. “Day’s coming to bring Zak in, too.” He nodded towards the empty chair to the right of Lee’s seat.

Saul looked away. “Bill, you sure Zak should come into the life, with all this? I mean, I love him like my own, but that wild woman he’s been running with—“

“Kara. Her name is Kara Thrace, Saul. Starbuck, if you want to try being friendly for a change.”

“I don’t want to be her frakkin’ friend! She’s insane!” He glowered as Bill started chuckling.

“Frak, you’re just pissed off she rode with the boys that hijacked that last shipment you had your eye on. And she was damn good at it, they said. She did a decoy and evade move that took the cops miles from our crew.”

“Oh, I heard,” Saul scoffed. “She crowed about that for a week. You need to tell Zak to rein her in, acting like she’s a member, or somebody’ll do it for him.”

Bill put a cautioning hand on Saul’s arm. “Saul…she’s probably gonna be Zak’s old lady one of these days. So she helps the club in non-traditional ways.” He shrugged. “It’s a member’s old lady doing her part for the MC. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. The money ends up in the same place.”

“Zak’s not even patched in yet.”

Bill wished he couldn’t see the hint of doubt in Saul’s eyes, but they’d ridden together too long.

“He’ll get patched. He knows he’s got to prove himself first, even if I don’t keep him a Prospect for a year. I told him to come up with a plan that’ll be a significant service to the club, execute it successfully, and I’d put his membership up for a vote. Just like I did with Lee.”

Saul got up, wincing as his knees popped. “Well, good luck to him then, Old Man,” he sniffed. “C’mon, let’s go see if the kids left us any booze out there.”

Relieved at the change in subject, Bill clapped his old friend on the back as they opened the door and re-joined the rowdy crowd.


	27. Kara, Carving Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kara Thrace is in love with the MC president's son. They don't know that she fraks up everything she touches...but she does.

_Kara Thrace is afraid of Bill Adama._

It might as well be tattooed on her arm in invisible ink: permanent, hidden, stinging. It is always with her, even before she met the man. As soon as Zak got drunk enough on cheap beer to talk about his father in depth, Kara’s been afraid.

Old Man Adama’s never had a reputation for violence… _well, he’s never pulled time for violence_ , she amended. There’s rumors that anyone who hurts someone close to him will have hell to pay, though, and that’s what scares her. It feels strange, being scared of someone like that. Kara’s generally fearless. It’s been her particular cross to bear.

She hadn’t been afraid of her mother, or her teachers, or the law, although it wasn’t for their lack of trying. She faked her first ID when she was fifteen, leaving home and crashing with friends and strangers as she worked a few nights pulling beers one place, a few nights dancing at another.

By sixteen she could do some card-counting and hustling; enough to buy her a bike and get the hell out of Delphi. She headed to Caprica City, confidence battling fear in her heart. She had been existing from day to day, boosting wallets here, getting in on a Triad game there, when she finally got a legit job: grease monkey and go-fer at a shady-looking garage that ran a chop shop in the back.

By eighteen Kara had a two room apartment where the utilities worked most of the time, a better bike…and a boyfriend. A good guy, sweet as he could be, and mostly law-abiding. Not usually her type, but he had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, and he acted like there was nothing wrong with her. She liked that about him and hated it at the same time. Sweet but blind was a dangerous combination, and the sweet parts kept threatening to lull her into thinking this could work.

Zak Adama made her feel loved and smart and competent. He trusted her. Knowing this made her perversely reckless, made her drink too much, made her do stupid stuff to push him to open his eyes. It didn’t work: he invited her to be around his family, his brother, his club uncles and their old ladies.

She hated it.

There were too many rules, too much protocol. She tried hard to blow it, to take things to a level where Zak would be told to drop her. She swaggered and smart-mouthed, picked fights with others, made even more of a drunken jackass of herself than usual when she got the chance. Zak kept sticking up for her, taking her to his house, rolling them together on his big wide bed until she didn’t want to fight him anymore.

She caved for good the day Lee Adama came looking for his brother’s help and found Zak too sick from a summer cold to ride. Against her better judgment, Kara volunteered to help the short-handed Lee and a few others hijack a transfer truck full of high-dollar goods.

She figured she’d be good at it. She hadn’t counted on how good it would make her feel, like she’d found her true calling. The brashness of it, the close calls, the daredevil riding and feinting was like moonshine being shot straight into her veins. She was walking on air when she parked her bike and strode into _Adama Automotive_ like she had every right to be there. She’d even gotten a smile from Old Man Adama himself, along with a dark glower from his Sergeant at Arms.

That’s when the real learning had started. Lee began to throw her a tip now and then about fitting in with the life. Kara made sure she was by Zak’s side when Helo offered up guidance and patient instruction. She had started to ask a question or two, butting in when Zak fell silent, and Helo had seemed happy to answer

She found herself poring over hand-drawn maps, identifying cut-offs and hiding places. She was careful not to go to the same person too often for schooling, and kept to the shadows when men gathered by the fire barrel to warm their hands and plan out loud.

Once in a while, there would be secrets whirling around the club that felt… _different_ from the smuggling and boosting and heists that were the usual business of the MC. That kind of change in atmosphere made her fingers throb at the broken places, made her cajole Zak away from whatever he was doing and grab their bikes and _ride._ No one ever objected…and now that she thought about it, the last time she and Zak disappeared like that, the perpetually hostile Tigh seemed almost relieved as they headed out of the lot.

Kara would take Zak to the flats outside of Caprica City and work on maneuvers, both on and off their bikes. He could ride well enough. Nothing wrong with his skills there. But mapping routes on the fly while being pursued, shaking a tail…there was something missing. The terror-fueled instinct to get away, the adrenaline edge that fear gave a person on the run…that didn’t come together for Zak.

Late at night, when he’d want to cuddle and kiss her after they’d frakked, it would come to her sometimes, what his problem was. Zak hadn’t had enough fear in his life. He was too optimistic, too trusting, too sure things would work out. His edges had been blunted by too much safety.

On the nights she let herself think about this, she knew he shouldn’t follow his father and brother into Outlaw life. He idolized his family, though, and cherished his Tauron heritage. He’d adopted his father’s beliefs as his own. He was so sure there was a place waiting for him at the heavy carved table…and Zak wanted it so much, she could taste it on his tongue when they kissed. 

She thought she could get him there, maybe. His instincts weren’t great, but most of the time, he could follow her directions, follow her lead. Soon, something big would come along, she thought. Something big enough to be his chance at proving himself. If she could just take over his body, his hands, his feet, his brain for a day, let him get a feel for split-second decisions, he could do it.

She would try harder, she told herself. Drill him more, try and get through to him the abilities that came to her as naturally as drinking a cold beer on a hot day. Maybe if the club let them work together on a job, his skills would improve. She could ask around, see if one of the lesser MC members had something coming up that Zak could handle with her help. If Zak could be successful, show them he did have the chops, she knew Bill would fast-track him into becoming a new member. She hadn’t been around when Lee patched in, but Bill didn’t strike her as a man who would let an Adama wear the “Prospect” cut for long.

 _Zak would be so happy!_ The thought made her smile. She envisioned him in the Tauron Outlaw colors, his cut a newer version of his dad’s, waiting to be marked with the signs of his life.

And if he failed, if he got arrested, or hurt…she pictured Bill Adama, grieving, angry, features like the side of a desert cliff. She thought about all that anger turned towards her, holding her responsible for encouraging his son. It was a mental picture that always made her restless, made her reach for liquor or weed or Zak’s body to block those thoughts.

 _Kara Thrace is in love with Zak Adama._ This was carved into her heart.

 _Kara Thrace is afraid of Bill Adama._ That was carved into her gut.

The day was coming when she’d find out which was stronger, and a refrain of “love conquers all” kept looping through her mind, terrifying her with its tempting false simplicity.


	28. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young man's dream, a parent's nightmare...ripples from a thrown rock widen, eventually touching everyone

The moon was a luminous pale crescent, casting cold light through the clouds and the tangle of tree limbs above the two men. Stray breezes in the deserted park set children’s swings swaying back and forth for a few seconds before inertia brought them to rest again.

“It’s a pie job, man. Here’s the directions. It should take two hours, max, to get there. Once you see the cubits, hand over this.”

“This is big, though, right? I mean, big enough.…” Zak looked younger than nineteen in the moonlight.

“Yeah, yeah...you bring ten grand to the table tomorrow, you’ll have everybody’s appreciation.” The man in the shadows checked his watch.

“And you cleared the deal with my dad?” The question was a formality. Zak was already strapping the saddlebags closed, his cargo buried inside.

“Your dad’s a busy man. This is a little off-book, okay? From before I came back. I know how your old man feels about dealing junk; this gets it off my hands and brings cash to the club. Everybody wins.”

It took Zak two tries to get the key in the ignition.

The man in the shadows sighed. ”Look, if you’re having doubts….”

The engine roared to life. “I’m fine. Kara—my old lady—she’s a natural at this kind of thing. She’s been working with me for weeks.” The darkness hid his blush. It was the first time Zak had called Kara his old lady, the first time he’d told anyone she’d been helping him acquire the skills that should have come more naturally.

His heart was racing as hard as the engine.

“Who are you gonna ask for again?” the man prompted.

“Meier…shared cell 8-C at the DOC on Saggitaron with you.”

“You’ll do fine, Zak. You’ll be throwing a saddlebag full of cubits on the table before breakfast.”

“Thanks, Tom. I owe you.”

Tom Zarek squeezed Zak’s shoulder like he used to before a big soccer game, that year he lived with them full-time.

“No problem, Zak. Go show your father what you’re made of.”

He walked back into the shadows and lit a cigarette, watching Zak ride out of his sight.

 

########################################################

 

The club always had a sour, stale smell first thing in the morning. Spilled alcohol, old smoke, and the odors that sleeping bodies give off in the night mixed together in a sad perfume. Bill dodged around puddles of liquor and empty bags of chips, mentally choosing a clean-up crew from the sprawled sleepers scattered on the couches. He stretched out the kinks in his back, wishing he’d gone on home last night instead of crashing at the club. He saw Lee across the room, curled up with one of the girls. _Looks like Zak had the house all to himself with Kara again last night._

He went through the back doors to the office and started opening blinds. Clear skies and sunny; looked like it was shaping up to be a nice day. He watched the golden morning light filling up the plate glass window in front of him as he looked over the parking lot. The coffee maker by his desk had just started to gurgle and drip when he saw the black-and-white police cruiser pull up, Assistant Chief Fisk at the wheel.

At least he thought that was still Fisk’s title. He watched the old man start to slowly unfold himself from the driver’s side of the car. The man had to be at least sixty-five, and moved like he felt every day of it. As he watched Fisk finally heave himself out of the patrol car, Bill ran down a quick list of current illegal activity and assured himself there was little possibility that this visit posed a threat. He doubted it would be a warrant; Fisk was getting too old for that. He pretended he didn’t hear the whisper centered around the pit of his stomach that offered other reasons an old, run-down cop might have to show up on a doorstep in the early morning hours.

“Coffee about ready?” Saul stood in the doorway between office and club, first cigarette of the day already between his teeth.

“Pot’s on. Hang on for a minute while I find out what Fisk wants.” Bill walked to the gold-stenciled front door and went out to the officer. He didn’t meet Saul’s eyes as he brushed past.

 

######################################

 

_Oh, this can’t be good._

Saul watched the two men as he sloshed coffee into his chipped mug. Frakker’s too old for a bust, and he didn’t work off the books anymore, so….

The hang-dog sorrowful look on Fisk’s face, making his jowls droop more than usual, suddenly made sense. Saul didn’t have to be able to read lips to see _“I’m sorry to inform you that there’s been an accident”_ coming out of the man’s mouth. He could read it in the sudden sag of his friend’s shoulders, his hands going up to push the words away.

Saul stepped to one side of the plate glass window, eyes on his friend, and tried to remember if it had been Zak’s or Lee’s discarded boots he’d almost tripped over this morning. He watched Bill grab Fisk’s arm with a beefy hand, almost shaking him as he seemed to be asking a stream of questions, then letting go with a push that put the policeman off-balance. Fisk became more animated, gesturing towards the clubhouse and the row of parked bikes until Bill said something else, lips barely moving. Fisk shook his head and looked at his feet. Without raising his head, he put a shaky hand on Bill’s arm. Bill turned his wrist to wrap his hand around Fisk’s forearm, like he was desperate to hold on to something, anything. Saul watched as his friend’s face began twisting in on itself.

Saul yanked the front door open hard enough to set the little brass bell jangling, jarring the morning quiet. He stood on the steps, meeting Bill’s eyes when he looked over. The wet on Bill’s cheeks was visible, making shiny sunlit tracks down towards the corners of his mouth. His clear blue eyes reflected horror and disbelief, and a terrible, final, knowing. A flash of memory ran through Saul’s mind as he watched his friend try to say a name. The boots he saw this morning, casually discarded in the night, bore stylized skulls at each ankle.

Lee’s boots.

He and Bill spoke at the same time; one asking a question, one giving the answer.

_Zak._

 

################################################

 

The long tanned leg was warm and smooth. It was also pressing against his bladder. Lee turned and pushed the leg away, then grabbed a slender waist to keep the woman next to him from falling off the couch.

“Hey, baby.” Her voice had a sleepy Scorpion drawl. His look traveled from the flat belly revealed by her low-riding shorts to the gentle swelling of the underside of her breasts, barely visible under the edge of the tank top that had ridden up in her sleep. Black waves fell over her shoulders as she raised her head to give him a vague smile.

_Huh. A brunette. How did that happen?_

“Hey, yourself, uh….” Frak. He rustled through his memory. Carrie, Mary…something with a “y” at the end….

“Cherry, right? Morning, Cherry.” He scratched his stomach as he sat up. His mouth tasted like stale whiskey and sour beer. He couldn’t tell if there was the taste of a woman on his lips or not. He searched her face and saw a little too much eagerness to please, like she was still trying to close a deal.

“You want me to get you some coffee?”

She was sitting up now, legs folded under her and leaning forward so he could see down her shirt. He looked instead to the clock behind the bar and groaned. 7:00 am. Too early to be up for a clubful of people who’d partied until two in the morning.

“Not yet, babe. I’m gonna go take care of some business. Why don’t you get a little more sleep?”

From the disappointment in her eyes and his morning wood, he was guessing he’d crashed before they did anything besides fool around. He looked over the dingy club, at the couple of members who had fallen asleep wherever they’d been at the end of the night. He shrugged. Surely if he’d been sober enough to frak, he’d have been sober enough to move off the couch and go to one of the rooms in the back.

As he stood up, she reclined again, stretching her legs out where he’d been sitting and turning onto her stomach. “Suit yourself,” she pouted, laying her head down on her folded arms. He let his eyes linger over the curved muscles of her arms and shoulders, dark and gleaming in the low morning light. The taste of her skin under his tongue came back to him as he smiled. More than fooling around might be on the agenda this morning.

Lee finished in the bathroom, splashing water over his face after brushing his teeth and rinsing his mouth of the night’s excesses. Taking a leak hadn’t done anything to bring down his hard-on, he realized. He rummaged in the cabinet over the sink for the brand of condoms he favored. He figured there’d be at least one of the back crash rooms empty. And if not, he could always roust his old man out of his room. He smirked at his reflection. _Wasn’t like he ever used it for anything besides sleeping._

He had walked back into the main club area and was admiring the way Cherry was lazily kicking her foot up and down when Saul opened the heavy door of the meeting room and beckoned him inside. He groaned as he looked from Saul’s typical frown back to the girl’s teasing hazel eyes. Frak me, this had better be important. He winked at Cherry and flashed the condom between his thumb and forefinger, grinning. Slipping it back into his front pocket, he followed Saul into the room. He hoped this would be short, and hoped somebody had made some frakking coffee.

 

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Limp silver-blond hair hung like tattered curtains around Carolanne’s cheeks as she sagged in the kitchen chair, face in her hands. She raised her head at the sound of liquid pouring into the tumbler in front of her. She only hesitated a second; staying sober suddenly seemed pointless now. She pointed at the cigarette pack on the table and watched with dull eyes as Tom shook one from the pack and lit it for her.

“Are you sure?” She picked up the glass.

He lit a cigarette for himself as he paced around her narrow kitchen. “Yeah, babe. Somebody’ll be around later to give you the official word, but the guy who called me said he was gone before the EMTs got there.”

The burn of the whiskey opened her throat a little from its choking clench. “I don’t understand. Zak wasn’t patched in yet…why’d that son-of-a-bitch send him out on something dangerous?” She was more talking to herself than to the man in front of her and was surprised when he answered.

“Carolanne, it wasn’t really club business that he was on. Zak had been looking for something he could do on his own, make a name for himself with the club…with his father. One of my old contacts needed some product moved to a local gang. I thought—we thought it’d be an easy run, and the profit would be enough to get the Outlaws’ attention…show that Zak was ready.”

She tried to read his face, to see if there was culpability written there, but her ability to read men and suss out their truths had faded along with the blue of her eyes. He just looked nervous to her. She closed her smudged eyelids and could see Zak and Lee sitting at the table, squabbling over who got the most cereal, who had gotten the best action-hero bowl. Smoke was winding a thin thread towards the ceiling when she opened her eyes again. She took another long drag and realized that Tom was gone. Stubbing her cigarette out, she picked up her glass and went to her bedroom.

“What are you doing?” She realized that was a stupid question as soon as she said it. He was cramming a few clothes into a worn backpack he’d thrown on her unmade bed.

“You ex is going to figure out I handed this off to Zak, and he’s gonna blame me.” He didn’t look at her as he opened a dresser drawer and started grabbing underwear and socks.

A ghostly echo was in her ears, the sound of sock-footed boys running in the hallway and making motorcycle sounds with their mouths. The cheap imitation silk robe suddenly felt too hot on her skin. Too many questions hung in the air. She took another deep swallow, hoping the alcohol would dull the sounds in her head.

“What are you going to do, Tom?” Another stupid question. He was starting to run, like he had when Bill got out of prison. Like he’d done the last time he and Lee had gotten into a fight over…she couldn’t quite remember what that had been over. Probably something about the godsdamned club.

His tee shirt stretched tight over his torso as he pulled it off over his head. Carolanne leaned against the door jamb and looked at his bare back, the Tauron Outlaws insignia tattooed in red and black across his shoulders, the Caprican Charter marks almost at his waist. She walked over and touched the faded “Z” and “C” that were worked into another set of initials: a more colorful “Z” twined with an “L”.

“Do you remember how excited Zak was when you got that? He said his daddy only had an “L”. She traced the “Z” on his skin as tears started to run unnoticed again, falling and darkening the blue of her robe. She felt the shiver that ran through her old lover’s back muscles and laid her palm on his shoulder.

He finally turned, and this time she read the fear and regret that was in his face, and felt a cutting satisfaction at the glaze of unshed tears in his eyes. He took the glass from her hand and set it on the dresser.

“I am so sorry, Carolanne. I never wanted anything to happen to him. It—he just wanted to be part of his dad’s club so frakking bad.”

“And it would’ve looked good on you, too, wouldn’t it, Tom? Being the one to give Zak this chance instead of his old man, having Zak’s gratitude, doing what his father didn’t do for him—again…that would’ve done something for you, wouldn’t it?” She could feel the rage start to blossom past the pain. She welcomed it. Rage was familiar, comfortable…a weapon to fight off the grief that was starting to push its way to the front of her brain.

He looked past her, all traces of his usual confident smirk wiped away. “I can’t talk to you when you get like this. I don’t know what else to say, babe.” He ducked as the empty glass flew against the wall and shattered where his head had been.

“Don’t frakking call me “babe”, you son-of-a-bitch! Zak would still be alive if it wasn’t for your frakking “help”!” She slowly sank to the floor, robe puddled around her feet as she started to sob in earnest. She looked up to see him pulling a black shirt over his head, covering the inked insignias that told the world who he was, what he was.

“Tom? Don’t leave me alone.” She exhaled a breathy “please” into her folded arms.

_Don’t leave me alone with the echoes of their laughter, their little-boy footsteps thudding on the hardwood floor as they’d run up and down the hall._

A frantic litany of “Zak’s not dead! He can’t be dead!” got louder and louder inside her head. She wished she hadn’t had that last drink, and she wished at the same time she had another one in her hand.

She watched with dull eyes as he dropped beside her, sitting on his haunches. “I cared about him, too, Carolanne. I cared about both of them.”

She didn’t try to see if that looked like a lie or not. It felt like sympathy and that would have to be enough for now. She could feel her mouth quivering and hated herself for needing him. “Can’t you stay until somebody comes? I don’t…I don’t think I can take being alone when somebody else comes here to tell me he’s gone.”

Her heart rose for a second as he leaned in to kiss her forehead.

“I took a hundred cubits from the nightstand. I’ve got to find an ink-slinger before Bill finds me. You know the rules.”

She sighed. ”Turn around, then. If this is it, I want to see them one last time.”

He stood and turned, pulling up his shirt. Carolanne rose and took one last, long look at his tattoos, touching again the ones that said she and her sons had meant something to him once. She dug her nails in to rake at the letters of the Tauron Outlaw insignia and hoped it would hurt like hell when new black ink started to prick into his skin, needle by needle. He stood there and took it in silence until her sobs hit her again, then he walked out, bags in hand. He didn’t look back as he left her alone.

 

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The bed was level and cool, and the sheets and blankets were over her in the same position she’d put them when she finally went to sleep. Kara frowned without opening her eyes. No heat. No dip to the left side. No blankets hogged by a restless body. She knew Zak hadn’t come home before she reached out and touched the other side of the bed.

_Godsdamn you, Zak. What have you done?_

She kept her mind blank as she went through the minimum of her morning ritual, washing her face, brushing her teeth. She glanced once at her Goddess-box and let her eyes move on by. It seemed out of place in the Adama house and she wondered again why she bothered to bring it along. She only prayed when the Goddesses had a fighting chance of doing something for her. She’d given up bothering them for lost causes. She always felt worse when she begged for something she knew she wouldn’t get.

The deadbolts and chain locks in her mind strained against the knowledge that threatened to break down her mental doors. She would let Zak into her head after she got to the club. There’d be people there who understood. A shiver ran through her as she locked the front door behind her and strode to the driveway, dew-damp grass darkening her boots.

They might blame her, or hate her. They might even hurt her, putting the reasons for whatever happened to him on her shoulders, for all she knew. She fought to ignore the inner whispers of _“he’s dead, Kara, you stupid little bitch, he’s dead, and you know it”._ The voice sounded like her mother.

She slipped into her helmet and got on her bike, kick-starting it into a rough rumble. Whatever waited for her at the club, it would be better than hiding here or in her apartment, waiting for a knock on the door. She’d rather hear whatever she had to hear from Bill Adama instead of from the bitter voice of her mother that lived inside her head.

She could see her mother’s face sneering in agreement as she sped along the highway in the morning traffic. She might not know the details yet, but she already knew whatever happened would be her fault.

It always was.

 

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Laura cut the vacuum off when she felt the thump of the afternoon newspaper bouncing off her door. She surveyed the living room and dining area and decided she’d cleaned enough to earn herself a short break. Richard had stopped coming to her apartment since the election and she had few other guests. If she missed a spot, she figured she’d live.

She pulled a diet soda from the refrigerator on her way to get the paper from the front steps. Flicking on the television and putting her feet up, she began flipping through the paper, skimming the pages for anything significant. Nothing stood out as being about the Ministry of Education, and the editorial pages had no more than the usual share of slams against the Adar administration.

She had already refolded the paper when she noticed a few leftover streaks on the living room windows, now highlighted by the afternoon sun. Grumbling, she pulled out a handful of inner pages as she got up to go buff out the marks.

 _Adama_.

The name jumped out as she looked at the sheets she was crumpling in her hand. She smoothed the paper out as she sat back down and looked closer at the daily listing of crime reports and accidents.

“Oh, my Gods!” Her hand flew to her lips to stop the cry that was already there.

_He had been such a sweet boy, so good-natured._

Tears made the type blur as she scanned the words.

_Fatal accident on Highway 109._

Motorcycle.

Hit and run.

One victim.

Zak Adama.

She glanced at the repaired Viper that still sat on her bookshelf. She saw its twin, balanced between two sets of hands: one large, calloused and dark, one small, a bit grubby and shyly reaching for the Viper.

Her soda slipped unnoticed from her hand, spilling over the just-cleaned floor, as she began weeping, newspaper crumbled in her lap.

_Poor Zak. Poor Lee._

She wept harder for a sibling now left alone forever.

_Poor Bill._

Her cries turned into sobs as she threw the paper away from her as hard as she could.

 

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It hadn’t taken Bill long to find what he was looking for. He’d been keeping it for Zak where he’d kept Lee’s before he’d earned his colors, in the back of the closet next to his funeral suit. He slipped the leather vest off its hanger, running his fingers over the large patches from shoulder to waist that would have told the world who Zak was, who had his back. The stiff black front had small white patches with black embroidery, _Tauron Outlaws_ above _Original Caprica._

He would have watched the bright white of Zak’s patches turn dirty grey over time, as Lee’s had done, and the leather would have lost its stiffness as it became a part of him. Bill looked down at his chest, at his own patches, weathered and faded with a thread hanging loose.

_I need to take care of that before the funeral._

He folded the leather vest so the red and brown back patch and rockers showed. Zak wouldn’t be buried wearing colors he hadn’t earned in life, but the vest his father had prepared for him would go into the casket before it closed. Bill hugged the leather to his chest like a life jacket, squeezing his eyes shut as he remembered the last time he’d hugged his younger son.

He raised his head at the hesitant knocking, frowning as he went to the door. After they’d returned from the morgue, he’d told Saul to keep everybody away from him for a while, unless it was Lee or….

_Kara._

“Hey, Starbuck. C’mon in.”

He shut the door behind her and laid the thick leather on the bed. Kara stood there facing him, eyes red-rimmed, her hands jammed into her back pockets. Her gaze flickered over his face, then settled somewhere around his knees.

“Is it true?”

He gave the vest one more look. “Yeah.”

“Frak.” He watched her turn her head away, a bitter grin on her lips. “This is so frakked up, Mr. Adama. I should’ve let him alone, not tried to show him my stupid frakkin’ moves.” Her jaw clenched against the tears that had started to shine in her eyes.

It felt natural for him to pull her into a bear hug like he’d give one of the boys. “It’s not your fault, Starbuck.” Pulling back, he wiped the tears off her face with his thumb. “I’m glad my son got to be with someone he loved before….”

He stopped, not ready to say the words yet.

She pointed at the folded vest. “Was that for him?”

“It would’ve been, yeah.”

She reached towards it slowly, like she was afraid it might bite. “He wanted this so bad.” She stood there by the bed for a few seconds, just looking, then drew in a shuddering sigh and whirled towards the door.

“I’ll get out of your way—I know you’ve got a lot to do.”

“Kara….” His voice sounded ready to break, even to his own ears.

“What?” She didn’t turn around.

“The house…you can stay as long as you like, if you need to. I’m usually here, and Lee, he comes and goes. Zak would’ve—“

Her shoulders flinched. “Yeah…I don’t know, but…thanks.”

He could hear her go out the back exit, boots heavy on the floor in a “don’t talk to me” stride. She was a strong one, didn’t like to show weakness even in the broken places. In some ways, she understood the life better than Zak did.

_They would have been good together._

He put the leather cut back in the closet before he started looking through the phone book for the funeral home’s number. He’d wondered where Laura’s strength had come from, where anyone’s strength came from, when you had to bury people you loved who died too young.

He guessed he was about to find out.


	29. Uncomfortably Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of tragedy, rituals have to be completed and people have to cared for. Laura has to decide what promises to keep, and what unspoken promises she'll have to break.

The numbness was comforting, like going through a drill he knew by heart. Bill had carried this numb feeling for hours, days even, back in the war. Just do the thing in front of you that needs doing, then do the next thing. He could feel later, after everything was over.

Right now the thing in front of him was to clear off the turquoise and chrome kitchen table. The counters were starting to fill up with containers of Tauron noodles and platters of sliced sandwiches from neighbor ladies who had watched Zak and Lee grow up.

He paused in his efforts to answer the knock at the back door. Standing there were two women, strawberry blond twins in tight jeans and matching tank tops, “Tigh One On” written across the front in silver glitter above a silhouette of a pole dancer. One was holding a tray of sliced meats and cheeses and the other had two jugs of iced tea.

“Hey, Mr. Adama. Ellen sent us.” He couldn’t remember the girls’ names, but he recognized them as girls who had been at Ellen’s club for a couple of years.

“C’mon in.” He held the door open as they brought in Ellen’s funeral spread, offering their condolences. As he stood back, they worked in tandem, arranging platters and finding cutlery. The one with a mole on her cheekbone brushed up against him once, making a subtle offer. She smiled and shrugged when he stepped away, and he wondered if Ellen had told her to do that or if it was her idea. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the mantle as he went into the living room. He was carelessly shaven and had dark pouches under his blood-shot eyes. _Definitely Ellen’s instructions._

Finding himself at loose ends for a moment, he began organizing the clutter of papers and books on the desk next to the fireplace. _The Big Book of Vintage Motorcycles_ had been left out, a couple of pages dog-eared. He wondered if that was the last book Zak had held. Probably so…Lee would have used a bookmark. He lifted the book to the shelf over the desk and stopped, book in mid-air. The girls’ rattling around the kitchen faded as his focus narrowed to the little model Viper on the shelf.

The paint had faded at the edges and the model was covered in dust. He closed his eyes and the wooden Viper was fresh and new again, still smelling like the woodshop. He saw Zak’s eyes light up again as he had examined the Viper, then held it up for Laura to see. That had been a good day, even if it had ended with him back in his cell.

His numbness started to crumble around the edges. He could still feel Zak’s warm, squirmy body as they had hugged goodbye that day, and Lee’s stiff reluctance…and Laura’s embarrassment when he had kissed her goodbye as well. He set the book back in its place and wondered if there was still a matching Viper on a shelf in her apartment. He blew the dust off the toy and aligned it with the edge of the shelf.

_Frak Zak’s privacy, giving him his ‘space’. I should have spent more time at home with him while I had the chance._

His chest bucked and he grabbed the edge of the brick fireplace, cracking his thumbnail against the mortar as he pushed the sob back down to his gut. He was William Adama, President of the Tauron Outlaws, a Cylon War vet, and he was not going to be seen crying over a toy. Not today. Not by a couple of strippers.

The back screen door slammed shut and he grabbed the numbness back like a shield.

“Mr. Adama? There’s somebody here to see you.” The one who didn’t have a mole on her cheekbone came over to him and leaned close. “I think he’s a cop.”

He looked out the front window and recognized Fisk’s off-duty sedan.

“Not in uniform?”

“No, just regular. He’s got some bags with him.”

He stood up. “Thanks. You and your sister probably need to get back.” He started to take his wallet out by reflex then saw the hurt look on the young woman’s face.

“Me and Teri wanted to do this, okay? Zak was a sweet guy.”

He nodded. “Thanks for coming.”

He walked her into the kitchen and hugged her and her sister. _Meri. They were Meri and Teri._ Bill was glad he’d be able to call the girls by their names when he thanked Ellen later. The table and counter now held neatly arranged platters and bowls of food, and a jug of tea sat next to a cooler full of ice and a saucer of sliced lemons. His grandmother would have approved.  
“Fisk,” he said in greeting.” You have anything new?”

The off-duty cop was in khakis and a stretched-out polo shirt, two grocery bags in his arms.

“I’m not here for that. Brought you some paper plates, plastic cups and stuff. You’re gonna have people in and out all day. That’s how it was when Amy died…best thing anybody brought me was this kind of thing.” He put the bags down and started setting out the items he’d brought, focusing on his task.

Bill waited as Fisk busied himself in the kitchen. He hadn’t looked Bill in the eye yet and Bill wondered why not.

“You sure you don’t have anything new?”

The old cop was looking everywhere but at Bill. “It’s not gonna change anything, Bill.”

Placing a cautionary hand on Fisk’s arm, Bill asked again. “Is there something I don’t know yet?”

Fisk’s hands stilled. “We had one of the drug dogs go over the bike. They started acting up over one of the empty saddlebags.” His eyes shifted away from Bill. “It’s possible there were traces of Stimdust in the bag. “Or”—he shrugged and held his empty hands up—“it’s possible there wasn’t. It’s possible the dogs were given the wrong bag from the evidence room. The report ain’t been written up yet. It can turn out however it needs to.”

Bill sat down in the chromed kitchen chair, the numbness now edged out by confusion.

“Zak? That doesn’t sound like him.”

“That’s what I thought, that you wouldn’t have him running junk. But….” The old man hunched his shoulders a little and turned his eyes away. “Is it possible that he needed money for something that maybe he hadn’t told you about? I’m just asking, Bill.”

Bill was suddenly back at the club, talking to Saul. Brushing off Saul’s concerns about Zak.

_I told him to come up with a plan that’ll be a significant service to the club, execute it successfully, and I’d put his membership up for a vote. Just like I did with Lee._

He rubbed his forehead with his hand as he stared at the cracked-ice pattern in the Formica. The words he’d said so casually were now going off like bombs in his head.

“Fisk, what’s your best guess as to what happened?”

Fisk hadn’t always been a good cop, strictly speaking, but he was a knowledgeable cop, and had been working Caprica City for decades, since before Bill had met him. He took his time as he answered.

“I think the people he sold something to, decided it wouldn’t be that hard, getting their money back. And Zak got spooked and went off the road, and ended up down that embankment. I think his bags got emptied and they took off.”

Bill felt a terrible, sickening shaking rise up through his body, flushing his face. His hands were fisted tight, knuckles whitening.

“Is there any chance that Zak—”

Head already shaking a denial, Fisk finished Bill’s question for him. “Was still alive and they left him? No. The coroner was clear on that. His neck was—it was over as soon as he hit the ground.”

Standing up, Bill felt a wave of relief wash over him, followed by the numbness returning as he realized he was grateful for his son’s snapped neck. The old man was speaking again.

“So, there’s some options, some possibilities, is what I’m saying.”

“My son didn’t deal drugs.” _Unless he was desperate to impress his old man._

“Good enough for me.” Fisk rose from the table, knees popping. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Bill. Plan to take some petty leave after I take care of some reports. I wouldn’t feel right showing up in uniform.”

Bill shook his hand, wrapping one hand around Fisk’s bicep. “I appreciate this, man.” He nodded at the plates and cups, then met his eyes, saying his words with deliberation. ”I appreciate all of it.”

Fisk sniffled then let out a long sigh. “The club was there for me when I needed…what I needed for Amy. Thorn wouldn’t have turned his hand, even if he’d still been alive.”

Bill watched him walk out to his car, closing the dark door in his mind as he turned back to the next thing that needed to be done.

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“Dad?”

“I’m in here, son. There’s a bunch of food in the kitchen, if you want to make a plate.”

Bill looked around Zak’s room and hoped Lee would be hungry enough to stop in the kitchen, give him a few minutes to wipe his eyes.

Lee walked into his brother’s room. “What’re you doing?”

“I don’t know. Nothing, I guess. Just thinking. Did you get the shirts from the cleaners?’

“Yeah.” Lee’s face was flushed as he toed some of Zak’s discarded clothes around on the floor. “I…I went by Mom’s, spent some time with her.” He looked up at his father and Bill hated the cautious look in his eyes.

“How is she?”

“About what you’d imagine,” he said with a shrug. “She’s crying, drinking, blaming you, the club, me…even blamed Tom.”

The model motorcycle made a clicking noise as Bill ran it across the table. He tried to get a clear mental picture of Carolanne’s face but only got her sneer and her pale hair in his mind’s eye. “He still with her?”

Lee sat on his brother’s bed, toying with the edge of the comforter. “Don’t think so. She says he took off as soon as he heard about Zak.”

Bill cocked his head. ”She say what that was about?”

“Not really…just another thing she could thank my godsdamn dad for.” His posture was a mirror of his father’s. “I figured you might know.”

“Beats the frak out of me,” he said, although he thought he might come back and explore that later.

“Hey what’s this?” Lee pulled a scrap of black lace out from under the covers. His laugh startled them both. Bill grinned at the underwear in Lee’s hand.

“I’m guessing those are Kara’s. She stayed here that night.”

Lee looked at the black fabric, then tucked them back under the pillows. ”She coming back?”

Bill sat next to his son on the bed, looking over the cluttered nightstand: two glasses, a couple of magazines, half-empty box of licorice, a cup of loose change. Receipts. Two ticket stubs to some band Zak had gone to see the week before. A framed picture of Kara next to one of his bike.

“I don’t know. I told her she could. I’m not sure she knows what she wants to do.”

He wondered if the band they’d gone to see was any good. None of the CD covers scattered around were familiar, and he realized he didn’t know what music his son liked. He watched Lee glance down at the wastebasket and smile at the condom wrappers at the bottom. Lee’s eyes were wet as he gave Bill a broken grin.

“Hey, looks like he went out happy, right?”

“Looks like.” Bill made a noise between a chuckle and a strangled cough.

He tried to give Lee a reassuring smile but could feel his lips twisting into a grimace. As he looked towards the head of the bed, he imagined he could see Zak’s smiling, irreverent face in front of him, almost as clearly as he could see the son that still lived. He reached out to touch a cheek that wasn’t there, would never be there again, and found himself sweeping the nightstand with his arm, scattering the detritus of his youngest son’s last days all over the floor. 

He never did remember what he said as he did that, or what he said as he pounded his fist down on the nightstand over and over until the wood cracked. He remembered wordless moans and hoarse gasps. When he came to himself, he and Lee were holding each other, both of their shirts soaked with tears and mucus.

Lee pulled away first. Bill drew a deep shuddering breath and started feeling around the floor for his glasses that had fallen off at some point. Each looked away as they started picking up the fallen objects, and then in unspoken agreement, they went to different bathrooms to clean themselves up.

There were more things that had to be done before the day was over.

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People came and went. Helo’s old lady had set out a notebook and was trying to keep track of who brought what. They made a nice couple, and the thought made his heart hurt again for what Zak would miss.

“Hey, old man.” Saul came up and threw an arm around him. ”You making it?”

“Trying to. Listen, tell Ellen thanks for sending Meri and Teri over with the food. It’s been a frakking zoo today.”

“No problem, bro.” It felt good to meet Saul’s eyes, to know that someone who had known Zak from birth was there with him. “I got a phone call…I guess the funeral home couldn’t get you.”

Bill nodded, relieved he could let his shields down for a few minutes. “Yeah, I missed a few calls. What’d they want now?””

“They wanted to know what to tell people who were calling, wanting to make a donation in Zak’s memory. I’ve had a couple people ask me, too, far as that goes.” He looked away. “Didn’t know if you’d had a chance to think about stuff like that.”

Lee came up with a plateful of cold ham and potato salad. It looked to Bill like he’d taken about three bites and then forgotten about it.

“You hear that, Lee? What do you think?”

Lee put his plate down and scanned the room,his gaze falling on a framed certificate hanging on the wall. _Classroom Helper of the Month Award--Zak Adama, Grade 6._ His guarded expression softened.

“How about our old school? I kind of hated the place, but Zak was always happy there. He loved Miss Roslin.”

Bill’s heart felt another sharp jab.

“That’s a good idea, son. I don’t know how to set that up, though.”

Saul reached in Bill’s front pocket and pulled out his phone. “So call her and ask. You’ve had the same phone for years. Bet it’s still in your contacts from when she used to bring her car in.”

He watched Saul scroll through his address book, then hand the phone back. Her name seemed to glow beside the Caprica City number. He looked at his son and his friend, then glanced at the crowd of people overflowing the kitchen.

“Take charge for a while, would you, Saul? I need to make a phone call.” He turned and walked into his bedroom, closing the door and standing there for a moment in the dark, looking down at the illuminated name in his phone.  
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Laura checked the mirror one last time before opening the door. The lighting in her tiny private bathroom seemed designed to make her look worse that she felt. She’d allotted herself five minutes to give in to the crying spell that had been building all morning as she thought of Zak, his poor brother…and Bill.

Biting into her fist had muffled the sobs—she’d cried in this bathroom before and knew how much sound the walls could contain. Unrestrained sobs, she’d learned months ago, were audible in the adjacent hall. She hadn’t made that mistake again.

She put her emergency stash of toiletries and makeup back under the sink. She hadn’t even tried to cover her pallor or the circles under her eyes. Her liner and mascara had been the most critical fix, and they were satisfactory. She could explain looking exhausted in a myriad of ways, enduring the last weeks of annual budget planning. Looking like she’d been crying, though…she didn’t have a good excuse for that.

Her office usually seemed bright and warm compared to the more institutional bathroom. Today, though, it seemed like the weather wasn’t cooperating. She turned her back on her desk and its waiting work and looked at the world outside her window.

Through the plate glass, past the blocky buildings of the Governmental Plaza and the towers of the commercial district, Laura watched the clouds rolling in over the bay, white at first, then deepening to grey. Caprica City was in for a dreary day or two, from the looks of things.

It seemed fitting.

She turned from her view of the horizon and sat down at her desk, half-heartedly attacking the stack of memos, reports, and notes in front of her. Still feeling too distracted to focus, she started separating the paperwork into piles of “Now”, “Later” and “File”, then froze, handful of memos in midair.

Buried half-way down was a sealed envelope that hadn’t been there before she had stepped into her tiny bathroom. If she’d started working from the top down as she usually did, she probably wouldn’t have gotten to it until tonight. _Somebody wanted me to see this…but not right away._

As soon as she opened the envelope and scanned the contents, she realized why. Enclosed was a draft of the proposed Ministry of Education budget that included a ten percent cut across the board. A bright yellow sticky note was in the corner:

_Sorry, L.  
Others needed it more._

_R.  
_  
No wonder he didn’t want her to see it until he’d left his office for the day. She reached for her personal phone, then swore under her breath and grabbed her desk phone. The note might have been to “L”, but Secretary Roslin was going to respond, and part of her hoped the call _would_ be recorded. She turned her chair around to face the bleak sky as she waited for her call to be jumped through all the hoops to get to the president’s desk.

“Mr. President, I just received a draft of the proposed budget for my department.” She kept her tone cool and professional.

Richard’s was just as professional, if a bit caught off-guard, giving her a rehearsed-sounding rationale for the cuts. She broke in after the first excuse about “defense priorities”.

“Mr. President, you do realize this will be the _second year_ we’ve had no cost of living raise for teachers as well as a hiring freeze, don’t you? Do you have any idea of the teachers’ attrition rates in the schools?”

A darker curtain of distant rain emerged from a grouping of clouds and started slicing through her view, slowly moving in towards the city.

“What is Baltar—sorry—what is _Doctor_ Baltar doing that’s overrunning the Defense budget?” Her mouth tightened as she listened.

“Oh, so the teachers of the Colonies have to wait on _artificial intelligence development?_ With all due respect….” She bit back a comment on intelligence that she wouldn’t have wanted recorded on the president’s line. She felt a touch of hope when he said he’d be open to discussing the matter further, then scoffed at her own intelligence, or lack thereof, when her private phone started vibrating a few seconds after Richard had ended the official call. She answered him before he had a chance to speak.

“Not today, Richard. I’m not in the mood for…further private _discussion_ with you right now.” The curtain of rain moved closer, falling perfectly straight. Even in her climate-controlled building, she could feel the air getting still and heavy.

“No….” she drew the word out as if she were really mulling over the possibility of slipping into his private side office during the afternoon lull. “I’m starting a migraine, I think. Must be the change in the weather.”

She imagined a sea of black umbrellas in a cemetery as her lover and current adversary droned on in her ear. She spun her chair back towards her desk and looked over her calendar and appointment book as he blended excuses and suggestions. She nodded to herself as she closed the book with a soft snap. _Nothing that can’t be put off a day._

“Richard, don’t—I can’t think about this right now. I feel like I’ve got a spike going through my forehead, and honestly, this is probably going to be one of those migraines that makes me throw up.” She smiled to herself. Nothing dampened his ardor like the thought of her being sick. The man didn’t have a care-taking bone in his body, as far as she could tell. Maybe his family got that part of him.

“I’m going to take a personal day tomorrow. This is going to be a bad one…I can tell already this is going to wipe me out for a good twenty-four hours.”

She swiveled back around towards the window. Sheets of rain were poised at the edge of the harbor, like they were lying in wait to attack the city. If she really had been brewing a migraine, she suspected it would have been a killer.

“I’ll call you when I feel like it. No, I didn’t mean that like it sounded—I’ll call you when I can think straight, all right? Now I really have to go.” She hit the “End” key without waiting for his good-bye.

She gave a few instructions to her aide while she conspicuously massaged her temple, then walked out to her car. She’d run by the sushi place, grab some take-out, and think about what she’d say when she called Bill.

She wasn’t sure when she had decided that she’d call him tonight, or that she couldn’t be at her desk as his son was laid to rest. Maybe those decisions had been moving towards her all day like the rain clouds, now almost black in her rear-view mirror.

Fat raindrops began hitting the sidewalk as she unlocked her door. By the time she sat down at her dining room table, a glass of wine on one side of her plate, her phone on the other, the rain was pouring down, turning the world outside her window a blurry gunmetal grey.

.

###################################  
.  
.

She had been sitting at the table for over an hour, mind going in circles as she tried to find the right words. Her phone lay black and cold next to her empty plate. The remaining three pieces of sushi had been dumped in the trash after she’d had to work too hard to get the last bite down, the rice sticky and swelling in her throat. Maybe a fresh glass of wine and a move to the living room would help. She was reaching for the wine bottle when her phone began vibrating against the table.

_Adama Automotive Repair._

She slowly picked up the phone and stared at the green “Talk” button. She still hadn’t figured out what to say.

_When In doubt, keep it simple._

“Hello?” she answered.

Her eyes closed in anticipation of hearing his gravelly voice. She was shocked at how soft it had become.

“Laura?”

“Oh, Bill…Gods, I was getting ready to call you. I am so sorry about Zak.” She gripped her free hand into a fist until her fingernails dug into her palm.  
“Yeah…thanks, Laura.”

She knew there were things she should be saying. A memory of Zak, a mention of praying for the family, something.

“Bill, if there’s anything I can do—“

“Actually, that’s why I’m calling. You were the only person I could think of to ask…we want to have donations made in”—his voice cracked and she heard him take a couple of deep breaths—“in Zak’s memory to go to his old school. The one you were at when…you know. The visit and everything.”

“I remember,” she said softly.” South Caprica Middle. Sure, I can print out the designation and donor forms and fax them over to—are you using Sechrest Funeral Home?”

“Yeah. Neighborhood tradition, right?” The touch of camaraderie in his voice made it sound like they’d never stopped talking at all.

She remembered that first glimpse of him, at the end of the funeral home hall, walking towards her while she waited for grief to shatter her into a million pieces. The mystery, the doubt that had held her away for so long seemed unimportant, here in the face of what really mattered. He’d been there for her when her world fell apart. He’d stayed with her, helped her bury her family…and she was offering to fax some forms. She’d never felt less like her father’s daughter.

“Laura? You still there?”

She pinched her upper lip hard as she tried to get herself under control.

“I’m here. Bill, I wish...." There was so much she wanted to say. So much she couldn’t say.

“Laura, if we start talking, I…I can’t—"

She listened to him suck in a deep breath before he could speak again.

“I’ve got to hold it together until tomorrow’s over. You remember how it is.”

“Yes, Bill, I certainly do.”

_I remember you were by my side, helping me hold it together._

His voice turned hesitant, almost shy. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

She stared at the phone. She should have been thinking about this as soon as she heard about Zak. Richard’s warning and her careless agreement rang in her ears. Everything she had in her life right now seemed to rest on that conversation after the election.

_Promise me you’ll stay away from him._

_Of course I promise, Richard. Why wouldn’t I?_

The phone felt cold in her hand.

“Bill, there’s no good way to say this, so I’m just going to say it. I want to be there for you like you were there for me, but…” she took a deep breath. “The secretary of education can’t be seen at a public event like that with convicted felons and, you know…suspicions of criminal activity.”

The softness had left his voice when he spoke again, replaced by a bleak hollow tone.

“I see. I guess I wasn’t thinking.” He cleared his throat. “Thanks for the paperwork, Laura.”

“Wait! Bill, I want you to know I’ll be there with you in spirit.”

_I’ll be there in my heart._

“Well, I’ll keep an eye out for your spirit then, while I’m burying my son.”

Her tears splashed on the black glass as the “Talk” button on the phone went dark.


	30. Dreams and Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's morning in a small neighborhood in the old part of Caprica City. Old songs and strangers at the market weave together to prepare Laura to do what she has to do, while Bill finds a small box and honors Zak's last wishes.

Thin slivers of first morning light showed pallid and watery against the overcast sky. Laura sipped at her coffee as she watched the sun start to rise over the horizon. Reaching for the glass of water on the counter, she washed down two aspirin against the dull beginning headache.

Everything in her had wanted to fling some clothes in a bag last night and rush out into the wind and lashing rain, making the long drive to her parents’ house as a penance for the pain she had caused. The half-empty bottle of wine still on the table told her she had made the right choice. The last thing Bill needed was another funeral.

_Bill._

He had filled her dreams after she’d finally corked the bottle, dried her tears and gone on to bed. Scenes from the summer when they thought they had a wide, bright future ahead of them had turned into grey concrete walls that rose to dizzying heights, shiny barbed wire trailing down like Cylon-made vines.

Dreams of a family picnic with her parents and sisters turned into a nightmare, as first her mother, then her father and sisters had gotten up from the plaid blanket spread on the grass and walked away. She remembered the sadness and confusion that had washed over her as each had turned and held up a warning hand, silently telling her not to follow.

In her dream she was getting up to follow them anyway, to beg them to not leave her there alone, and then she heard a range of masculine voices behind her…boisterous giggles, mumbles breaking over a range of pitches, and a low, warm gravely tone, good-natured and friendly. The blanket morphed into a wooden picnic table and she was handing cold fried chicken and bags of chips to Zak and Lee, a masculine arm around her shoulders. Bill was passing paper napkins to the boys and she saw that the ring on his left hand matched the one on hers.

The scene shifted to a grey-tinged overcast light and Zak got up from the table and ran off to play. Laura gripped her coffee cup with both hands as she remembered the sick feeling she’d had in her dream when she realized Zak was running in the same direction her family had gone. She had gotten up to go after him, his narrow tee-shirted back moving further and further away, when she looked back at Bill. He was holding his arms out to her as tears ran down his face. He had been slowly shaking his head back and forth as he motioned her with his hands to come back.

She thought he’d been saying you can’t go when she woke up, pillow wet under her face and her heart racing, pounding hard enough to shake the bed. It had been tempting to try to go back to sleep, to capture again the sense of peace she’d felt when she dreamed of her, Bill and the boys being a family. She had looked up at the ceiling for a few minutes, letting the dream images run through her imagination. She realized dully that all she could capture was the image of Bill in tears, reaching out to her while she moved away.

_Godsdamn story of my life._

She had given up on sleep then, and started her morning coffee brewing. The red LED display read 05:15. Plenty of time to pack and drive to the old neighborhood, settle in for a quiet weekend in the suburbs.

_Plenty of time to get to an afternoon funeral._

The sun continued its rise over the city, the overcast sky streaked with pinkish red through the dark clouds as she watched from her window.

_Red sky at night, sailor’s delight; Red sky at morning, sailor take warning._

She heard the rhyme in tones of her father’s voice and nodded to herself. The storm wasn’t over yet, and she’d be driving right into it. She realized her headache had disappeared and she felt like hidden pieces of a puzzle had just clicked into place. She hummed an old song that had been in the top ten that long-ago summer as she turned off the coffee maker and went back in her bedroom to pack.

.

.

.

Richard was chewing on a bite of dry toast, staring at the three newspapers and his stack of morning briefings in front of him when his phone rang. He swallowed as he looked at the display and wondered why his head of special security was calling so early.

“Adar.”

“Sir, I’ve just learned that Rabbit has left home base and doesn’t appear to be coming into the city. Did you want any follow-up on this?”

_Migraine…probably be out for twenty-four hours. I’m taking tomorrow off..._

“Mr. President?”

“I’ll call you back in a minute,” he said, ending the call.

This had been in the back of his mind since he saw the tiny article about the wreck. His fingers started to stain from the newspaper ink as he scanned over the local sections of the papers in front of him. The last one had what he was looking for.

He read the names under the obituary heading, stopping at the entry for Zachary Adama. He wasn’t surprised to read that the funeral was this afternoon. As he got up to wash his hands, he mulled over his options. He could just call her, he supposed, just ask her outright what she was planning. But that could lead to a discussion he wasn’t ready to have….

He stared at his phone. It wasn’t like she’d been seen slipping out of a hotel room. The part of him that remembered the dedicated woman who had been at his side, supporting him through his first campaign, wanted to let this go. She had known the kid, had known the family for years, after all.

Glaring at the obituary, Richard was suddenly angry that she hadn’t just asked him to understand, and he wondered what that said about them, that she apparently had found it easier to lie. He shrugged away the niggling guilt that he’d been lying to her as well, even if just by omission, for months, telling himself she had never actually asked how far his security detail extended into her life.

_Oh, frak it._

He read over the details in the obituary. The list of surviving and ‘preceded in death by’ kin read like a police blotter. Some agency or another would be running surveillance on the funeral. It was too good an opportunity to pass up for the organized crime section.

He punched in the number for his security head.

“Here’s what I want you to do…just have one of your team do a drive-by, see if her car’s there, see if she’s standing with the family. They’re to only take action if it looks like Lau—uh, _Rabbit_ is at any risk. If it appears that she notices the agent and questions his or her presence, that’s what I want her told.”

“That it was a safety measure.” Richard could hear the faint sarcasm in the other man’s voice.

“Keeping in mind that my preference is that they not be noticed at all.” He touched the phone off and wished he still had some old phones with slammable receivers.

He’d let her have this one, as long as she was discreet. He pulled the dossier of his new assistant out of the pile in front of him, smiling as he read that the elegant young woman had passed all the security background checks with flying colors. Richard admired the jet-black waves that framed her face, giving her a soft inviting look, even in a government I.D. shot.

He wondered what code name his special security would use for her.

.

.

Laura almost dropped the bottle of milk in her hand as the old man bumped into her in the tiny dairy section.

“Pardon me.”

She looked up at the man who had spoken to her, close to her father’s age and neatly dressed in a black suit and an old-fashioned fedora. His smile crinkled his olive-toned cheeks but didn’t extend to his dark, almost black eyes.

“No problem. I’ll get out of your way,” she said, straightening from where she’d leaned over to look for the butter.

“You’re not in my way at all. To be honest, I was wondering if you were related to someone I once knew.”

She swept her hair behind her ear. Something about this old man made her uncomfortable. “Who would that be?”

His smile widened, showing strong white teeth, incongruous with his age. “A Mr. Roslin, used to live in this neighborhood. You look to be about the age of his eldest daughter…you’ve got his look around the eyes.”

Her gaze wandered to the heavily carved cane in his hand. He didn’t seem to be putting any of his weight on it and she wondered if it was just for show.

“Yes, I’m his daughter, Laura Roslin.” She met his eyes. “And you are…?”

He looked around the small store. No one was near this section.

“I’m Sam Adama. I counted your father as a friend, when he was alive.”

She frowned. “I know the Adama family that lives around here, but I don’t remember my father ever mentioning your name.”

“No, I don’t imagine so.” The man suddenly looked more bent with age. “He was a good man, gone too soon. I thought I’d get an offering for his grave while I’m here…I’ll be attending my great-nephew’s funeral this afternoon.”

 _Bill’s uncle._ She knew something about his name was ringing a bell. She wondered it if was a warning sign.

“On the shelf by your left shoulder.” His voice now held the faint quaver of age.

“Excuse me?” She tried not to stare as his posture and stance seemed to age him past his years in front of her.

“The butter you were looking for.” He leaned on his cane as he turned, a small grocery basket of offerings in his other hand.

She found the wrapped square of butter where he had said it would be and finished her shopping for her weekend supplies. He had been perfectly kind and friendly, but she found herself dawdling in a back aisle as he paid for his purchases, waiting until he was out the door before approaching the counter.

_My father had interesting friends._

_And Bill has interesting relatives._

.

.

.

The sky was still overcast when she returned to the Roslin house but the oppressive heaviness in the air had dissipated, leaving the morning a little more comfortable. She parked her silver sedan in the garage next to the old tarp-covered Mustang and headed for the kitchen door, hands full of bags and keys.

As she passed the Mustang, the catch on her purse snagged the edge of the plastic, pulling the tarp back over the right fender to reveal the glittery emerald green shine. She touched the sleek finish and wondered if the battery still held a charge. As she unlocked the door, Laura glanced at the steel shelving against the cinderblock wall of the garage. Her father’s battery charger was still in its place.

She put away the small bag of groceries and checked the time. Not yet noon…she closed her eyes and tried to visualize the instructions Bill had given her when he showed her how to use the charger. A smile played over her lips as she remembered the warm summer day in the garage, a dance song playing on the battered workbench radio. She had made a teasing remark about his many talents and he had grinned and pulled her into his arms.

_And I can dance._

He’d spun her through a few steps as she’d giggled and tried to follow his lead, battery charger forgotten until her father had come out of the kitchen onto the garage steps with a raised eyebrow. Bill had let go of her hand and hip immediately but she had felt his touch for hours, and it had made her smile.

She slowly approached the covered car that contained so many of her best memories…and some of her worst. Tarp pulled back, it looked as beautiful as ever. Bill’s voice was in her thoughts, guiding her as she hooked up the charger and popped the hood. She hummed the song they’d danced to as she carefully connected the clamps, red to positive, black to negative. As she finished, a scrap of lyric came back to her.

_Cause now I’m sitting here with the man I sent away long ago..._

Her hands blurred in front of her as sudden tears filled her eyes. Wiping them away, she set the timer for two hours and went inside. She had a funeral to get ready for and her mind was still whirling with so many questions.

.

.

Showered and dressed, Laura went out to check that the charge had taken, and was gratified that the Mustang’s engine started on the first try. Putting everything away in its place, she went back inside and went over her plans again.

She’d found her old butterfly-patterned scarf in her dresser drawer, wondering if it had been her father or one of her sisters who had carefully soaked out her bloodstains. It would cover her hair, she thought, and her vintage oversized sunglasses would hide most of her face.

She had driven by the cemetery on her way back from the corner market. It looked like the church was still unconcerned with keeping the hedges trimmed back by the side entrance near the service road. She doubted Bill would even know she was there, but she would know. That would have to do.

.

.

.

“Hey, Mr. Adama, you about ready?”

Bill turned away from the row of framed photographs on his dresser and looked at Kara as she leaned against his bedroom door. A glance in the mirror told him he was ready as he was going to be…black Henley shirt under his black leather cut, black jeans, and black boots.

“Almost.” He ran a comb through his hair, something on his right upper arm making a soft crinkling sound as he moved. Kara stepped into the room.

“What’s with your arm? You okay?”

He smiled at her concern. He should be asking her that, with her face looking drained, her pallor only broken by the dark circles under her warm brown eyes. She was dressed in black from head to toe as well, plain black leather jacket over a black long-sleeved shirt, black jeans and boots that mirrored his own.

He looked down at his arm. “I’m fine. Got some ink yesterday.”

She tilted her head in a question and he pushed up his right sleeve. Under a layer of plastic wrapping was a fresh stylized “Z” on his bicep, black ink edged with slightly raised pinkish skin. He watched Kara blink hard as her nose reddened. She wiped a hand over her eyes and shoved her hand back in her pocket and nodded.

“Looks good. He’d like it.”

“I should’ve done it a long time ago.” He sighed. “I hope he never thought I was favoring his brother over him.”

Kara smiled. “You mean that “L” on your other arm?” Her smile turned into a wry smirk. “I asked him about that once. He told me he figured it was more about some lady named Laura you’d been into once than it was about Lee.”

She turned serious as she walked into the room and laid a hand on his arm. “Mr. Adama, Zak never—look, it was good between you and him. He got it, how you felt about him and Lee. He wanted to make you proud of him, but….” She looked towards the photographs, him and his sons at different ages. “He knew, whether he made the grade or not, you were still gonna love him.”

He watched a tear run down her cheek and something told him she hadn’t gotten much of that kind of love in her own life. An impulse pulled him towards a small box on his dresser.

“Look, Kara, now that Zak’s gone—”

She took a step back and straightened her shoulders. “I know…I get it. I need to move on down the road, not be hanging around…I know you said you were fine with me staying here if I wanted to and everything, but there’s not really any point anymore, right?” She bit her lip and turned towards the door. “I’ll get all my stuff out by Monday, if that’s okay.”

The small box snapped shut.

“Kara, shut up and get over here.” He was looking at something shiny in his palm as she walked over to stand next to him.

Bill cleared his throat twice, rubbing his thumb over the silver ring. “When my father died, I let each of the boys pick something of his to keep for themselves, something that would remind them of their grandfather. Zak…he’s—he was something of a romantic. He wanted me to keep my Dad’s wedding ring for him…something special for when he met the right girl.” He looked at her with misting eyes. “A couple of months ago, he asked if I knew where it was. Said he was going to be asking me for it soon.”

He watched as she pressed her hand over her mouth hard, and he could feel everything she was trying to hold back behind her wounded eyes.

“You should’ve been part of our family, Kara. You would’ve made a good daughter-in-law.” He gave her a watery smile. “I always did want a girl.”

He listened to her harsh breathing as she visibly fought to get her feelings under control. Maybe this had been too much…maybe this had been wishful thinking on his part, wanting to keep some connection to Zak through this kid. Maybe he’d read this all wrong, and she was ready to get away from everything that reminded her of Zak, get back to a law-abiding normal life….

She extended her hand, slightly shaking and with fingernails bitten to the quick. Bill looked at the engraved symbols inside that meant “family” to him, then looked at her fingers and was glad he’d never had it resized. He didn’t want to saddle this girl with the look of being married—she needed to find that part of her life on her own.

The ring slipped over her thumb, nestling between the first and second joint like it had been made for that exact spot.

“That won’t tell anybody…any guy that you’re married.” He watched her stare at her tiny reflection in the silver band. “But it’ll tell everybody that you’ve got family.”

A thready laugh came from her lips. “And they better not frak with me, right?”

He hugged her tight, wishing she was dressed in white and his son was at her side, then carefully tucked that image away.

“And they better not frak with you, is right.”

He hugged her again and then let her go, telling her to go wash her face like he used to tell the boys when they were still young enough to cry around him.

She was past the door when he called her back.

“Kara? Two things…I’d like you to stand with the family today.”

“I’d—I’d like that, if you’re sure it’s okay.”

“It is.” He started running a comb through his thick hair again.

“What’s the other thing?”

He saw that her eyes had cleared and he thought he could see some color coming back to her face. He hoped wherever his son was, he could see it, too.

“Lose the ‘Mr. Adama’. My road name’s Husker.”

Her quick smile was as bright as the shining ring on her thumb. It was gone in a flash as the weight of the day settled back over them both, but in that instant, Bill knew he’d done the right thing.


	31. Funeral Meets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the funeral, Laura spends some time honoring her dead. An unexpected visitor give her more questions than answers about how the Roslins and the Adamas fit together. Meanwhile, men in unmarked cars try to see if there's anything worth watching for.

The silence was jarring after the road noise stopped and the engine sounds died down. She pulled up on the parking brake and turned everything off as she glanced around the empty cemetery. It was early enough so that Laura thought she could risk a quick walk over to her family plot. The carved pink-white marble gravestone marked the final resting place of the Roslins.

She paused mid-way and looked at how the car, half-hidden by overgrown foliage, lined up with the awning-covered site of Zak’s grave. She should have a clear line of sight, and the intervening rows of stones would provide additional concealment. Working her way through the maze of flat and upright markers, she paused in front of the Roslin stone and after looking around again for observers, sank down to her knees in front of her parents’ graves.

The wind and rain had weathered the carvings over time; it was easy to see, even without reading the dates, that her mother’s name had been chiseled years before her father’s. At least her father's and sisters’ names on their headstones had lost that raw painful look, like you could run a finger down a letter’s edge and draw blood. Zak’s stone would be like that for a year or so. She wondered if Bill knew that, or cared. She frowned at her faint reflection in the glossy marble. She didn’t know if he was one to visit family cemeteries or not. Maybe that wasn’t a thing in his family.  
.  
.

She was finished with one of her favorite prayers for the dead and was half-way through a whispered entreaty for her family to welcome Zak on the Shore when she felt something soft and light fall against her knee. She opened her eyes and reached out to pick up the yellow and red flower that a light breeze had blown in front of her. Up in the niche at the side of the stone was a small wicker box. Curious, she rose to examine it further. It was sitting in front of a grey bedraggled basket that held the stems and dried crumbs of the last offering placed there. She remembered with some guilt that she’d left the basket over a year ago.

Odd…along with the usual flowers and doll-sized baked loaves of bread, there was a miniature bottle of...she turned it so she could see the label, a bit guilty again that she was handling something that wasn’t hers.

_Tauron whisky. The good kind._ She poked again and found a hand-rolled cigar in between the flower stems, and a tiny bag of sugar crystal star-candy. She remembered the exchange at the corner market that morning, the soft voice…

  _I thought I’d get an offering for his grave while I’m here._

She reverently pushed the box back into its niche. The old man, Bill’s uncle, really must have thought a great deal of her father. She wondered why she’d never heard his name in her house, even after Bill had started coming around. It seemed like it would have been natural for her dad to ask Bill how his uncle was doing, or—

“Do you think he would have approved?” The quiet voice behind her made her jump. She turned and wondered how an old man with a cane could walk so soundlessly. His eyes were hidden by sunglasses almost as big as her own and something about that made her glad.

“Yes, I think he would, Mr. Adama. This is a lovely offering. I know he’d appreciate it, and I do as well.”

He nodded solemnly as he looked around the cemetery, obviously scanning for something in particular. He finished his survey and seemed to relax a bit. “You’re very welcome, Miss Roslin.”

She saw a car pull into the main parking lot up near the road. She needed to get settled into the Mustang before people began arriving en masse. Glancing at her watch, she looked up at the old man. For the first time, she noticed two large men waiting several yards from where she’d parked. They were similar in complexion to Bill and his uncle. More relatives of his she’d never heard of?

She opened her mouth to ask if they were his family when the afternoon sun broke through the cloud cover and shone down on the men. It only lasted a second but it was long enough for her to see the uneven bulk under the men’s’ jackets that broke the smooth lines of their suits. They looked as solid as the stone that filled the cemetery, both men standing perfectly still, hands clasped in front of them. One kept his eyes moving over the area, the other kept his eyes trained on the old man in front of her.

Her voice was steady but cautious as she said, “I suppose you’ll be going inside soon. It looks like it’s time for the family to start coming in.”

He smiled and she was struck again by Sam Adama’s white, even teeth, made even starker by the contrast of the thick black glasses. She could see the bottom of an ‘Omega’ tattoo under the right earpiece, the symbol filled in with a darker ink. He had known loss as well, and she wondered if them both being widowers had been part of his bond with her father.

“Like you, Miss Roslin, I have decided to honor my great-nephew’s passing from something of a safe distance.”

He nodded at the men waiting for him then turned back to her and removed his sunglasses. His deep-set eyes in their nest of wrinkles hinted that they had seen terrible things, but she imagined she could see flickerings of kindness, and a deep, deep sadness.  
  
“Even if we can’t be seen by most onlookers, and I do believe that will be the case in the spot you’ve chosen, Zak will know we’re here. And I believe my nephew will know as well.”

She couldn’t have stopped the next couple of tears if her life had depended on it. “Zak…he was so young.”

Sam Adama sighed and replaced his sunglasses. “There’ll be others younger than him waiting to greet him on the Shore.” He ran a papery-skinned finger under the edge of his glasses and it came away wet.  “But my husband, who loved my family very much, and your parents, and Bill’s, and other good people will be there as well.”

“I know…it’s just—“

His head cocked at something she couldn’t hear. “Miss Roslin, we both need to go. Now.”

He took her arm in a surprisingly strong grip. Turning her away from the main parking lot, he began walking her towards her car.

He was back with his men and she was just closing her car door when she heard the low thundering roar of dozens of motorcycles approaching the cemetery. Cars and trucks began pulling into the parking lot, a couple of cars disconcertingly similar to her solid but non-descript government-issued sedan.

More clouds were rolling in, promising a rainy service. Laura scrunched down in her seat and hoped she’d pulled her car in far enough. Then she breathed a sigh of relief—if she hadn’t, Sam Adama would have told her. She looked at the spot where his… _oh, hell, his bodyguards, no use pretending it hadn’t been obvious_ , and realized they were all positioned so as to be almost invisible.

She wondered what had happened that the nice old man had lost all of his teeth and had them replaced with top quality implants. She somehow doubted it had been from age and decay. Remembered neighborhood whispers of Ha’la’tha activity came back to her and she admitted to herself what her subconscious had been trying to tell her since the grocery store…Bill was related to a very dangerous man.

A bright flash of lightning illuminated her father’s headstone. She saw again the respectful offering left for her father by Bill’s uncle, and wondered if she could say the same about herself.  
.  
.

################################

.  
.

Bill never thought he’d miss that asshole Zarek. If he was here, though, Zarek could have been the one helping Carolanne hold it together, and Lee could have been by Bill’s side.

Instead, he and Lee stood separated by Zak’s casket and the empty hole below it that the fake grass barely disguised. Carolanne had settled down to a tired weeping that seemed to fit with the cold drizzle that had started to fall. He glanced at Kara to his right and saw her standing stone-faced, looking like she was ready to fight, and thought again that she would have been good for his son.

Saul and Ellen stood at some distance to his left, and as he looked their way, he realized how… _old_ they were all getting. The younger guys, though…Helo and Lee, Tyrol, Gaeta and the rest…they looked like he and Saul had looked once—strong and tough and ready to take on the world. Then there were the other old men.  
  
Fisk stood on the other side of Carolanne, holding a black umbrella over her head as he kept his face tilted away from the parking lot. Bill wondered why he bothered anymore, with his career all but over, then his hand brushed the folded paper in his pocket. Fisk was risking charges to pass along a list of agencies coming into his jurisdiction for surveillance duty today.

He’d tell Lee afterwards that his great-uncle had been there, watching from the shadows near the side entrance. Maybe tell him some more about that side of the family. The priest’s chant faded into the background as Bill stood with his head slightly bowed and watched a rivulet of rainwater begin washing away at the camouflaged mound of dirt.

_Dirt-eater!_

Selfishly, he was glad that he and his boys had been born on Caprica, that he and they hadn’t gone through the derision his father and uncle had for being Tauron-born. He’d heard stories of taunts and worse, but the Cylon war had broken some of the old barriers down. He wondered if his Uncle Sam ever felt obsolete.

Somehow, he doubted it.

The musicians started to play a song Kara said Zak had liked, soft and melodic against the background of whispering rain. The ceremony was winding to a close after what felt like hours. He was tired, and in his mind, Zak had been on the Shore for days, ever since his neck was snapped. What was left in the wooden box was sacred, but it wasn’t Zak.

Fresh tears had started to mingle with the drizzle as the priest went into a prayer for the gods to provide comfort to the bereaved. Almost at the end, he let his thoughts turn to Laura, the way Zak had laughed with her, the way she had been so patient with both boys…and how good it had felt to comfort her when she needed him so much after the accident.

He’d tried to work out the difference—why she didn’t feel that same urge to comfort him as he did her, and wondered, as he watched droplets form and run off the edge of the casket, if he’d been wrong all along about the feelings between them. His shoulders hunched against the rain. He tried to pull some comfort from the gods and their priest, although in his heart he thought it was all pretty much bullshit.

As the prayer was ending, the cemetery was lit up by lightning flashing overhead. In that flash, he looked towards where his uncle had been standing and caught a reflected shimmer of green. He felt Kara hold an umbrella over him and, as his vision cleared from the falling rain, he saw the white of a headscarf, a shiny black canvas roof, and sunglasses that had been taken off to reveal what he knew would be hazel-green eyes.

_The gods had answered the old priest’s prayer_. Bill felt a warmth along his left side as though she was standing there, shielding him as best she could from the chill of the late afternoon rain. For the first time in years he echoed the words that ended the prayer of comfort, thanking gods he no longer believed in.

Thanking Laura for being there.

The service ended with hugs and hand-gripping between his men and their families, and he finally was able to walk around the gravesite and hug his remaining son. He watched Fisk lead Carolanne away and knew he’d see her safely home and keep her car keys for tonight.

“Hope they got what they came for,” Saul growled in his ear.

Bill followed Saul’s glare to the black sedans that seemed to loiter in the upper parking lot. “Think they’re Colonials?”

“Frak, yes, they’re Colonials. Look at the extra tint on the windows, mother-frakkers.”

Bill looked around at the members of his club. “We got anything to worry about?”

Saul shook his watchcap-covered head. “Nah, the boys with outstanding papers are back at the club waiting on us.”

“Might not be about us, Saul. We had company. My uncle was here during the service, over by the side gate.”

Saul’s eyes widened. “ _He_ was here? I didn’t see anybody.”

Bill gave him a long, thoughtful look. “Nobody? You didn’t see anybody over that way?”

“Saw some shapes, figured they were cemetery stuff.”

“Good…that’s good. If you didn’t see anything, close as you were, maybe those assholes didn’t see them either.”

“Them?”

The priest was standing with the funeral director, small symbolic shovel in his hand, obviously waiting for them. Lee stood to one side, looking like he was fifteen and in trouble again as he stared at his feet. Kara was at his side, straight as an arrow. The casket had been lowered all the way to the bottom of the grave.

“I’ll tell you later. We need to….”

Saul nodded and took his friend’s hand, their rough fingers twisting together as they walked to the dark pile of dirt that waited for their shovel. They each took a turn, Lee handing the small shovel to Kara at the end. Bill looked away as she dug and threw dirt into the grave harder than she needed to, then handed the shovel to the priest and stuck her hands back into her pockets.

“Son?” Bill motioned for Lee to come over. “Make sure she knows she’s welcome to come on over to the club.”

He watched Lee walk over to Kara, looked up at the parking lot, then over at the side entrance. The black sedans were gone.

So was the emerald green Mustang.


	32. "It's You"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura rambles around her empty family home as night falls. Familiar noises from years ago draw her to the front door and to the visitor she hadn't let herself hope for.
> 
>  
> 
> “When I saw the lights on over here, I knew this is where I needed to be.”

Laura was exhausted as she pulled the car back into the garage next to her work sedan. Still, she didn’t enter the house until she carefully pulled the blue plastic tarp over the vintage muscle car and double-bolted the automatic garage door. She took off her shoes as soon as she got inside, setting them on the little bench by the back door.

She noted with a pang that her father’s garden shoes still sat there as well, long-dried traces of dirt still visible. One day, she’d decide to throw them out or give them away, but for just this moment, it felt nice to see his shoes next to hers. _She could almost pretend_ …she shook her head. At her age it was called denial, not pretending. She supposed she should examine that idea at some point, but it wouldn’t be today.

She laid the damp scarf over the back of a kitchen chair to dry, smoothing out the wrinkles until it hung straight. Pulling out the meat and bread she’d bought earlier that day, she threw together a sandwich and ate it standing over the sink. Getting out the good china and silver for just herself and a single sandwich had just felt wrong.

She looked at the kitchen table that had held five place settings in its day, then four, and finally just one. As she chewed, she thought how lonely her father must have been, and wished she’d come over more often. She hoped he had friends over, after Sandra had moved out. Then she imagined Sam Adama at the family table, papers from the office safe spread out in front of them, and was suddenly glad she’d decided not to sit in her old place at the table.   

Finishing in a few bites, she rinsed off her hands and began going through the first floor rooms, closing the blinds and checking the locks, trying to capture the feeling of being home again. It felt like it was going to be a long night, one that might be good for thinking through some things, maybe deciding what should be let go, what should be kept.

Images from the day played through her mind as she went through the house. Lee had grown into a strong young man, and she wondered if his mother knew how lucky she was that Lee was still there for her. He seemed to have inherited his father’s sense of commitment.

And the young blond woman who had stood next to Bill, dressed all in black…a pang of jealousy ran through Laura as she thought of her. Not that she might be Bill’s girlfriend—even at a distance it was clear she was much, much too young—but that it was so easy for her and the others to be there for Bill, out in the open.

She hoped Bill had seen that she had been there, but thought it unlikely, with the rain coming down in the gloom and Bill’s eyes not moving from the graveside service. She wished she could call him, let him know she’d been there…. She wrapped her arms around herself as she finished her rounds. Her comforting words probably wouldn’t mean much, coming after the fact. He needed her when he needed her, and as far as he knew, she hadn’t been there at all.

His uncle had seemed sure Bill would feel their presence…normally she was skeptical of such things, but as she sat in the living room that held decades of memories, she thought maybe he could be right. She could still get a feeling of her parents and sisters when she was here, even though their physical selves were long buried. Something of their love remained.

The old family sofa still had faint impressions from her family’s use, the slightly sunken cushion where her mother had spent so many of her last days, the arm that had rub marks from Cheryl’s legs slung over the end as she watched television. Laura settled into the seat that had been her mother’s and curled her legs under her. Leaning her head on the overstuffed back, she began to relax, and thought about nothing at all for a while.

.

.

The rain had stopped spitting against the windows an hour ago, leaving behind a residual dampness that she was fighting with the low flames from the gas logs in the fireplace. The house always felt lived-in even when months went by between her visits, but the echoes of the life force that had been her family seemed to diminish a little more each time.

On days like this, she felt precariously balanced between her existence in the city, the apartment she had arranged to fit who she was now, and the memories of who she had been when she lived within these walls. One day, she supposed, she’d reach a tipping point, like realizing a favorite, perfectly broken-in pair of shoes weren’t ever going to come back in style…they might be a sweet souvenir of happy times, but there came a day when you realized you’d never wear them again. She looked around the room, at the signs that her family, the Roslin family, had lived here, and knew she wasn’t at that day. Not quite yet.

The television reflected her image back at her in its silent dark screen. She hadn’t touched the remote since she got back, content to listen to the creaks and whispers of the old house and try to catch the faint feel of her family again. Even diminished, it was worth trying to catch.

There were montages in movies she’d watched, scenes of a woman in an empty house intercut with shots of the past. No matter how evocative, those scenes always ended the same; the house remained empty and the woman was left alone. Laura brushed a tear from the corner of her eye and wondered what it would take to see a happy ending. Maybe those were reserved for people who made wiser choices in their lives. People who were better than her.

She’d go through the channel guide in a minute, see if there was anything worth watching. Maybe pour a glass of wine first—she wasn’t ready to see a screen full of happy people yet.

.

.

The light from a single headlamp cut through the dark, shining in through the living room window, and an engine she just now realized she’d been waiting to hear roared for a few more seconds before cutting off. Her feelings of trepidation surprised her as she started uncurling her legs, wincing at the stiffness that had set in. She could hear the crunch of the gravel under heavy boots coming towards the front door.

 _This was going to be horrible._ She had let Bill down when he needed her. The disapproval she felt was coming from her own guilt, she knew, but it felt like the house, her family, the universe were all regarding her with disappointment.

She was already at the door, her hand on the doorknob, when the doorbell rang. She braced herself to take the hit of the condemning look she knew she’d see in his eyes.

_ Well, I’ll keep an eye out for your spirit then, while I’m burying my son. _

Remembering his words had her stomach clenching hard as she took a deep breath to steady herself. She could take whatever he needed to say. She would take it like the penitent she wanted to be, would be, for him. 

Swinging the door open, she met his eyes, as blue as she remembered and full of sadness. Wordless, she stepped back to let him inside. He didn’t move, just stood there under the porch light looking at her. A look of something that seemed surprisingly like gratitude came into his eyes. She was opening her mouth to tell him to come in when he finally spoke, a touch of wonderment in his voice.

“You came.” 

She hadn’t realized how much she’d hoped he’d seen her until she blinked back tears of relief at his tone. He slowly crossed the threshold into her home.

Laura reached past and shut the door behind him, accidentally brushing her body against his side, and he didn’t pull away. That was all it took. She turned towards him, slipping her arms under his open vest and up around his back, and he made no move to stop her. She laid her cheek against his, the fine-grained leather of his cut feeling cold to her skin under her blouse. She could smell the rain in his hair.

The thought flashed through her mind that she should be comforting him. Then his arms went around her waist and he rested his head on her shoulder, and she knew she already was.

.

.

They stood like that in the foyer, not speaking. Laura could feel his deep easy breaths pressing his chest to hers in a remembered rhythm and was content to stand there, holding him and feeling his soft exhalations warm against her ear. She had begun to move her hand up and down his back in gentle strokes when he pulled away, touching his lips to her cheek. 

“The priest was saying a prayer for comfort to be delivered to the bereaved. I was thinking ‘what a load of bullshit’ when I looked over to the side entrance and saw your car.” His arms tightened around her waist for a second. “It was like I could feel you next to me. It was a good feeling.”

He searched her face as she tried to read his expression. She could feel his gaze stripping off layers of her public self down to where the real Laura lived. There was grief in his eyes…regret, confusion…and somewhere down in the depths of his look, there was a frail shimmer of hope that terrified her.

 It suddenly felt like too much. It was her turn to pull away. He seemed to read her mind as he let go of her waist. She dropped her arms from around him, then reached down and held his hand as she turned towards the living room. 

“Let’s sit down. You must be exhausted.” She noticed he didn’t withdraw his hand as they went to the couch.

 He lowered himself down into the low-slung seat, and she realized with a pang that both of them had lost that youthful body ease that came from the certainty that movement would never be uncomfortable. One more thing she’d taken for granted until it was gone, she thought, as she took the seat beside him.

 “Yeah, I’m pretty worn out.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes for a second, then sighed. “You know how it is…there’s something you need to do every second, your mind’s all on that, and then you get a—a gap, a break, and all you can think of is you’ll never see him again.”

She nodded as she curled her legs under her again and leaned into his side.

“And then you wish you had more to do, so you wouldn’t have any time to think,” she said.

He rubbed her thigh absently as he nodded, looking off into the blue gas flames in the fireplace. “I knew you’d get it. Get how that feels.”

“I do. I remember.” She leaned her head on his shoulder and was glad she wasn’t looking into his eyes anymore. “That made it worse when I realized what I’d done, telling you I couldn’t be there.”

His arm fit around her as easily as it had almost thirty years ago. “I shouldn’t have said what I said. I shouldn’t have hung up on you like that. It was just…” His sigh was deep and ragged. “The worst times of our lives seem to find us together.”

Her quiet hum of agreement was the only sound in the room until she spoke. “It’d be nice if that could be different.”

She felt him nod next to her. 

“Yeah, it would,” he said. Silence filled the room again.

She finally squeezed his hand then released it. “Do you want a drink? I’ve got scotch, bourbon, wine….”

His soft chuckle surprised her. “I’m so frakking sick of booze right now….” He chuckled again at her raised eyebrow. “After the service, Saul and Ellen set up an open bar in the club, wanted to give Zak a fitting send-off. After the fifth or sixth round of shots and stories, everybody ran out of things to say about Zak and started to mourn over their own people. When I started feeling like I wanted to cry over my grandmother again, I knew it was time to get out for a while. Clear my head.” He reached up to touch her cheek, and she saw his eyes glistening.

“When I saw the lights on over here, I knew this is where I needed to be.”

She turned her head to kiss his palm, then pushed a lock of hair back that was falling across his forehead, her fingers lingering against his skin.

“How about some hot tea?”

“Sounds perfect.”

She reached for his hand without thinking as they got up and went to the kitchen. It was like they needed to have some physical connection at all times, like that was entirely within the realm of possibility. She sighed. The illusion of togetherness would be broken soon enough. She wasn’t sure if it would be worse to give in to the closeness now, then feel it break tomorrow, or not to go there at all. She looked down at their joined hands and realized the choice had already been made. 

They were already there. 

.

####################################

.

A mug of hot tea in front of both of them, they sat at the kitchen table, letting their hands do the talking with small touches and light strokes. A wind had come up, catching the neatly trimmed branches of the forsythia bush outside the kitchen window and whipping them lightly against the glass, making a shushing sound in the silence. Laura glanced at the neat line of the hedges backlit in the moonlight as she sipped her tea and let her mind wander.

Richard still kept the contract with his lawn service to maintain the yard, although Laura suspected it was paid for with an automatic renewal and he just never thought about it anymore. She wasn’t sure how much he thought about her anymore, either. 

He still wanted to meet with her for a thirty minute frak in his private office every other week or so, they had lunch once a week…it had become a bit like going to the gym. The physical side of her was usually relieved afterwards that she’d gone and gotten through it, but she was starting to need to give herself a pep talk to get moving towards his office. And like the gym, her main motivation was that she was afraid of what would happen if she stopped. Afraid of what that deterioration would look like.

It was nice to put all that aside, here in the warm kitchen. There was something about the way Bill stroked her hand, his forefinger following the small bones, tracing the blue veins under the surface of her skin, that made her feel cared for. She smiled as he started rubbing the knuckles with a slightly firmer pressure that felt almost therapeutic.  

Since she’d developed a touch of arthritis in the joints of her hand, she’d been self-conscious about them…they always looked a little more raw than the women she met professionally, almost like hands of someone who lived by physical labor. Hand creams, even the expensive ones, hadn’t helped the roughness that was bone-deep. But tonight, under Bill’s touch, they felt beautiful, like the hands of someone cherished. She wished life could be simple enough so she could have just this one thing for longer than a night. 

Bill had relaxed over the tea and the quiet, looking around the kitchen like he was seeing an old friend for the first time in months. Something seemed to catch his eye and he stopped stroking her hands and pointed to the counter by the sink. 

“New set of canisters, right?” He nodded towards the sleek chrome tins. “You used to have canisters with farmhouses on them.” He smiled but his mouth held a downward tilt.

_ Outlaw bikers and kitchen canisters…another Adama _ _paradox in a long line_ _of many._

“Yes, I got a set for my last birthday…I liked the set I already had at my apartment so I brought these out here.”

And if Richard ever came around her apartment, he would have known that, although she suspected he had sent his personal assistant out to pick up something nice but not too personal.

“I always liked the farmhouse ones…your Dad used to say the little people in the scenes always looked happy and safe,” he said.

Her eyebrows drew together. “I remember him saying that, too. Kind of a family thing…you must have been over here a lot.” _More than I ever realized._

“Well, you were off at school, then working…and Sandra and Cheryl had their own lives.” He looked into the thick china mug. “Things with me weren’t—there were times when it was just what I needed, to come over here, see if anything needed fixing, have a drink with your Dad. I got to know him pretty good.”

“Well,” she corrected him without thinking.

He got up and took the empty mugs over to the sink, beginnings of a wry smile on his lips. “He used to do that, too. I told him it was my Tauron heritage.”

“Oh? How’d that work?” she said as she got up.

He grabbed the dishcloth from over the faucet and ran it over the table like it was an old habit.

“He told me I was full of shit, but I got points for coming up with a plausible excuse.”

Laura rinsed out the cups and put them in the drainer, then turned and braced her hands on the sink as she tried to pull together the right words.

“Bill, the last time you were in this house, I said some things…I said a _lot_ of things that could have waited.”

The lines graven around his mouth were still deep and he still looked exhausted, but something eased around his eyes just a touch. “That means a lot, hearing you say that now.” 

He leaned against the table, facing her, mirroring her posture as he braced himself with his hands against the surface. “I should have handled things differently. I was so…frakking _focused_ on doing what I had to do, I lost sight of how things would look to you. What you must have thought.”

_ Like chess pieces on a board, both of us afraid what the next move will mean. _

She heard the tick of the kitchen clock as it marked the passing of another minute, another piece of time gone. The memory of Zak’s casket, the latest one in what felt like a long line tonight came to her, reminding her how unexpectedly life can change.

She wasn’t sure who moved first, but stepping forward and meeting him in the narrow kitchen felt like the first right move she’d made in a long time.


	33. "Moments of Gold, Flashes of Light"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But when you touch me like this / And you hold me like that / I just have to admit / That it's all coming back to me now"

Bill and Laura finally broke out of their soul-satisfying embrace when a lightning flash outside the window reminded them both that his bike was parked outside. The emotional spell was broken for a moment as he went outside to wheel the bike into the garage. When he returned, stepping into the kitchen from the garage like he was coming home, there was something so heartbreakingly right about his presence that she wanted to cry for lost time.

Laura took a couple of deep breaths and pulled him into the living room, unsure of what to do next. She was still trying to decide when Bill made a comment on her family pictures that spurred a memory of photograph-filled boxes.

“Let me go check something,” she said, as she went up the stairs and stood in the upstairs hallway, looking up at the ceiling. She was tugging at a hanging cord when he followed her to the top step.

“Laura, what are you—careful!” he said, moving out of the way as the attic stairs unfolded near his head.

“Oh…sorry,” she said, smiling in apology. “When I left South Caprica Middle I stored everything from my office in my Dad’s attic. It just hit me…there should be pictures of Zak and Lee in plays and assemblies, yearbooks…maybe some that you’d never seen.”

_Because you were in prison_.

“Is that okay? I probably should have asked first.” She looked up into the dark attic over their heads and wondered if she was rubbing salt in fresh wounds.

“That’d be great. I know I missed out on a lot…so many things I didn’t see.” His guilt colored his face as she turned and led him up the fold-out stairs. She hoped what she had could give him some comfort.

Her father’s attic had been kept as orderly as his garage. It took her only a few minutes to find the section where her boxes were stored. The two of them batted cobwebs away and brushed dust off labels until she had found the clear plastic storage boxes from her last year as principal.

They sat on the attic floor as she opened the one she sought, the one that held a smaller sealed box.

“It’s that one, the box with the green tape around it,” she said, pointing with a dust-smudged finger.

He looked at her curiously. “All those kids you worked with, and you’ve got a whole box of my boys’ stuff packed away?”

She bent her head over the box, avoiding his eyes. “I knew their mother never sent money for annual pictures, or photos of the spring dances, that kind of thing. I thought kids should have reminders of the good school days, even if their folks couldn’t afford it.” She met his eyes then. “Theirs wasn’t the only box like that.”  
  
He studied the box in his hands, then looked around at the array of boxes marked with various years and schools.

“Do you ever regret leaving the school system? Getting into politics?”

She darted a look at him, trying to see if his gaze held reproach, but all she could see in the shadowy space was honest concern.

“Sometimes, sure. But then I think about what I can do for so many more children where I am.”

“So it’s worth it?” His tone was flat and resigned, and she cringed inside. It sounded like he was ready to accept that she had the life she wanted—one with no place for him in it.

 “It’s worth it…sometimes," she said thoughtfully. "What you do, what it’s cost you—is it worth it to you?” She held her voice even, and hoped he’d hear the genuine curiosity there. “Not Zak…I can’t imagine anything being worth that. But the other parts…the prison time, always looking over your shoulder, all the secrets…is it worth it?”

“I hope so. I hope it will be, in the long run.” He looked down at his hands. “It better be.”

She pondered that as the rain started up again, hitting against the metal roof over their heads. They got up from the attic floor in silence and climbed down the folding stairs. The brighter light of the hallway revealed how much of the attic’s dust and grime they had brought down with them.

 “Oh, my gods, Bill, you’re filthy!”

He turned her towards the gilt-framed hall mirror. “You’re not much better, Miss Secretary of Education. Look at all the cobwebs in your hair.”

“It’s ‘Madam Secretary’ and could you help me get these out, please?” She started dragging her fingers though her hair.

He looked down at the floor. “We’re getting a ton of dust on the carpet.”

“I can vacuum later but…”

“Don’t worry about me. The ride home’ll blow off most of it.”

She was lifting the folding stairs back into the ceiling when she heard his phone ring.

He answered, mouthing “Lee” to her as she finished.

“Well, I was planning to be back at the house in another hour or so,” he said, looking puzzled as he waited for Lee’s response.

“No, I _don’t_ feel like staying at the club tonight. Place is packed, anyway. Lee? Get somewhere that’s quieter. I can barely hear…Lee? How much have you had to drink?” He frowned into the phone as he listened to the answer.

“So you’ve got a ride to the house?” His face cleared. “So what’s the prob—oh. Gotcha.” He rolled his eyes at Laura. “Fine. I’ll work something out. Tell—wait, did you say _Meri,_ or _Teri?_ ”

His eyebrows rose. “I see. Well, tell ‘em both I said thanks for helping out yesterday. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” He hung up, sheepish look on his face.

Laura couldn’t hold a quick giggle back at his expression and her shoulders shook, scattering more dust over the carpet.

“Laura, I hate to ask, but….”

 “It’s fine, Bill, really. I’ve got plenty of room.” She looked at their reflection again. “We’re going to have to get a shower before we do anything else, though.”

Their eyes met in the mirror. She watched him look down at the taped box still in his hand, then back at her.

“I think I can live with that. Wash up, then maybe we can look at these together.”

He looked at the hall bathroom and she wondered if he remembered the double shower with plenty of room for two. Something in his eyes told her it didn’t matter…not tonight. She wasn’t surprised when he asked which one of them should go first.

 “You go ahead and leave your clothes outside the door,” she said. “I’ll find one of Dad’s robes for you.”

She looked away as he opened the bathroom door just wide enough to lay his dusty clothes on the floor. As soon as the door closed behind him, Laura stripped off her filthy clothes and dropped them on top of his, gathering the pile up and taking them to the laundry room before stepping into her parents’ old bedroom.

She was glad she hadn’t given everything away to charity yet. Opening the trunk at the foot of their bed, she found what she’d been looking for: two new robes that had never been out of their wrappers. Her mother hadn’t wanted to replace her favorite robe even after Cheryl’s husband had given her a new one on her last birthday. And her father never did retire the robe he had always worn when he had stayed by his wife’s side at the end. A man’s brown robe, a simple thick plush style, and a woman’s robe, fleecy white with a subtle pattern lay side by side in the trunk, like a final gift from her parents to her…and to him.

  
############################################# 

Laura had every intention of placing the brown robe outside the door on the hall table and waiting in her room, giving Bill some privacy. Then she heard the sounds, the thick gasping sobs, and knew privacy wasn’t what he needed tonight.

She had those times after her own losses…holding things together, almost feeling normal, and then a flood of tears would come out of the blue when she felt unobserved. There was something about being under a fast-flowing shower that would pull at her to let her feelings loose, and the sobs would come. She’d ached for human contact then, accepting that it wouldn’t come as the hot water ran out, leaving her chilled in body and soul.

She could give him what she’d wanted so badly for herself and hadn’t gotten, if he would let her.

She quietly opened the door, still undressed, and gathered up her courage to walk in and pull the curtain back. He was leaning with his forehead against the shower wall, his ink-decorated shoulders and back heaving with grief as water from the shower head above poured over him. His hand held the faucet in a white-knuckled grip.

“Bill? Bill, I’m here.” She stepped in beside him and laid her hand on his shoulder.

At her first touch, he pulled her close, not resisting as she wrapped her arms around his back, reaching up to glide her fingers through his soaking wet hair.

It wasn’t anything like the hedonistic showers they’d taken together years ago. It was a cleansing…a washing away of dust and grime, of years of misunderstandings, of wrong turns and missed chances. After a few moments, his sobs ebbed as suddenly as they’d hit, and he drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he wiped water out of his eyes.

As he composed himself, Laura reached for the faucet for the second shower head and was soon standing in her own spray. She couldn’t tell if he was relieved or disappointed that the length of their bodies weren’t pressed together anymore. The crisis had passed and she wondered if she had done the right thing by coming in here. His matter-of-fact calmness told her she had, and she smiled as he finally spoke.

“Got any shampoo that doesn’t smell like flowers?”

She handed him a bottle scented with rosemary and mint, finally letting herself look at his body as he sniffed approvingly at the fragrance and began lathering his hair. There were scars and new ink where there had been smooth olive skin years ago, but other than that and a few extra pounds, he hadn’t changed.

She tried to be casual as she reached for the shampoo, but inside she marveled at how beautiful he still was. His arms had retained the muscular sculpting of his youth but now seemed thicker, like he’d gained power with age. Her glance caught the fresh “Z” and her eyes stung as she realized he must have gotten that after Zak’s death. It was jet black, darker than the time-faded ‘L’ on his other arm. She realized that Lee had been right. That was her ‘L’, and she wondered if he’d come to regret inking her into his skin.

Trails of lather ran down his body, and as she began soaping her arms and neck, her gaze followed the path down to his slightly thickened waist and below. Even in his current unaroused state, he was still impressive, thicker that Richard even like this. She wondered if she’d feel his hardness inside her again once his grief was no longer so raw, and the thought made her nipples stiffen under her soapy hands. Looking back up the length of his body, she realized that his eyes weren’t shut against the water anymore and she blushed, wondering what he’d thought about her thorough examination.

She watched his eyes as he looked at her just as thoroughly, and she hoped time and gravity hadn’t wrought too many changes in the body he remembered. His admiring gaze was cautious but appreciative, and as she raised her arms up to start washing the suds out of her hair, she found herself relaxing into his comfortable quiet regard.

“I didn’t expect this,” he said, finally smiling.

“Me neither,” she whispered, barely audible over the spray. “I hope this was okay.” She closed her eyes as the warm water rinsed off the soap.

“It was very okay. I guess I needed—gods, Laura, you haven’t changed a bit.”

He ran the tips of his fingers down her side. Stepping closer, he lifted her hair towards the spray just like he used to. She let him touch her throat, the back of her neck, the tops of her shoulders, his thumbs grazing her spine. He squeezed her shoulders lightly, a promise for the future, then pulled his hands away before they drifted lower. She smiled her understanding. There would be other times, other touches. She turned off the water and laid her palm on his cheek.

“That’s sweet of you to say, even if we both know it’s not true.”

Moving away from him, she took one of the towels off the rack and wrapped it around her body, then got another one for her hair. He seemed nervous at her silence as she handed him a towel. Finally she spoke again, as he twisted the towel around his waist.

“I think I’ve changed a lot, Bill. And I think maybe you have, too.” She smiled as she handed him the brown robe, taking the white one for herself. “And I’m thinking that’s probably a really good thing.”

  
  
#########################

Dust and a touch of mustiness tickled his nose as Bill sat with Laura on the side of her old bed, slowly going through photographs of his boys he’d never seen before. The first few had jabbed at his heart and his throat had tightened, thinking of all that he’d missed. Then Laura had started to go over each picture, putting them into a context so clear, he could almost imagine he had seen the events themselves. She hadn’t just gathered pictures—she had written notes on the backs that were enough for her to recall the days they were taken.

She had archived parts of his boys’ childhoods he thought he’d missed out on forever. And she had a gift for easing the pain he felt for not having been there.

A gap-toothed Zak smiled back at him from his fifth grade year, wearing a Picon Panthers shirt. A more serious Zak, one year older in a short-sleeved shirt and tie, stood next to a pretty girl in a lavender spring dress, the two of them not quite holding hands under a flowered arch. A shot of Zak being handed a trophy in front of his school Pyramid team, face beaming. So many memories....

Laura’s gentle narration guided him through the years as he made his way through the box. The pain subsided as his mind started adding new memories to the old ones and parts of his son’s life that had felt nebulous to him before began to solidify. It was like she was making his son whole again in his heart.

She had managed to find some pictures of the boys together. Lee had dropped his teenaged look of boredom and pumped his fist in the air as he watched Zak make a goal, and someone had snapped a picture that Laura had added to the box.

Another shot showed her and the boys in front of the green Mustang. Zak looked like he was almost bouncing up and down with excitement. Lee leaned against the car, hands in his pockets and was saying something to his brother as the shot was taken. Laura was standing by Zak, smiling at the camera and holding her windblown hair back with one hand.

He remembered that day. It had been the closest thing to a perfect day as an inmate ever got—visiting day with the people he loved most. He put his hand over hers as she dug further into the box.

“Did I ever tell you how much that day meant to me?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew it was useless. He didn’t have the words to express the hope that had lightened his spirits those last months. No one who hadn’t been through it could really get it.

“You didn’t have to, Bill. I could tell by the look on your face.” She looked down at the photograph. “I could tell by the way you looked at the model Viper at my apartment. You didn’t have to say a word.”

“They look happy in most of these. That’s an incredible relief. When I thought of them with just their mother….”

Laura looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “I don’t know where you are with this, but…that guy, Tom Zarek, that stayed with their mother off and on…he came to some of the games. He’d sit with Lee while Zak played. It seemed like that helped a little.”

He felt his mouth tighten. “Whatever he did for the boys, he was doing for their mother, to get in good with her.” In his mind’s eye, he saw Laura with his sons again, holding Zak’s hand, touching Lee’s shoulder. “Whatever you did with them, I know you made them feel it was about Zak and Lee…not so much about you knowing their old man.”

“They’re smart kids, Bill. I’m sure they figured out it was some of both.”

“Probably, but you did enough so things went okay when I got out. Even Lee wasn’t as mad as I expected. And Zak…what you did helped him stay the happy kid he was supposed to be. That’s big, Laura. That’s so frakking big, I can’t even tell you.” He felt the tears welling up again and then her fingertips were on his cheeks.

“Maybe we should—“

“How about we—“

He smiled. “You first.”

“Bill, once we go through the box, it’s kind of…over.” She bit her lip and he knew she was speaking from experience. “It might be good to ration these out some, save some for another day.”

_And what do we do with each other in the meantime, Laura? Who are we, what are we, to each other?_

“I think you’re right,” he said. “I’d like to take my time with these…but don’t you have to go back to work after tomorrow?”

_The work that says you shouldn’t be around people like me._

The way her face fell told him she’d forgotten, here in her safe place surrounded by her past, that things were different now.

“S’okay, Laura. I’ve got time tomorrow, and so do you, right? We’ll have plenty of time.” He looked again at the small box. “We’ll get through it okay.” He held her chin and leaned slowly towards her, touching his lips to hers over the box of photographs. He could almost hear the sounds of the prison yard and for once, it was a good memory.

She smiled, eyes closed after the kiss, and he wondered if she was thinking of the last time they’d kissed like that.

“That was a good day, wasn’t it? Happy, sad…it was a really full day.”

“It was.” He watched her stifle a yawn with her hand, and held back one of his own.

“I didn’t think it was possible, but I actually feel like I could get a decent night’s sleep…first time all week.” It was the first night he hadn’t felt like his heart would shatter, thinking about sleeping peacefully while his son lay at the funeral home, waiting for his own rest.

He started to get up. “Where do you want me to—“

“Right here, if that’s okay.” She slipped a hand under the collar of his robe and cupped his neck. “I don’t want a wall between us, unless you feel like you want to be alone.” The look in her eyes was cautious, ready to accept whatever he said. He covered her hand with his and closed his eyes. He’d already made up his mind as soon as soon as she’d suggested it.

“I’d really like for us to sleep in the same bed again, Laura. Even if…” He stopped, too many qualifiers in his head.

_Even if I lose it again and cry myself to sleep._

_Even if you want me to make love to you and I can’t tonight._

_Even if you don’t want me like that anymore._

Then she leaned over him and kissed him on his weathered cheek, smiling against his nighttime stubble.

“I’d like that, too, Bill. Even if…whatever it was you were going to say.”


	34. Safest Place to Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So many thoughts that I should have just let my heart explain..."  
> Explaining through the night, in so many ways, as the past informs the present

The box of pictures sat on Laura’s dresser, waiting for them to take it up again and let memories of Zak run free. Bill couldn’t imagine looking at them with anyone other than Laura. There’d be too many questions, too many explanations needed if it were someone who hadn’t been there. He sighed as he stood by the bedroom door and looked down the dimly lit hallway. It was beginning to sink in that casual questions about his family would never be ‘casual’ again. He laid a brief hand on the box’s lid as he left the room, tamping down an irrational impulse to say ‘good night’.

The dryer’s buzzer was jarring in the quiet as Laura returned from the bathroom. She turned back towards the door with a wry smile.

“I left a new toothbrush out. Sounds like I should have checked on the clothes.”

He touched her cheek lightly. “I’ll get the clothes out after I’m done. Why don’t you get into bed?” He could feel his heart thump against his chest as he spoke. Such an innocent question, to bridge a decades-long gap. He tightened the belt of his robe as he went down the hall, feeling his cheeks flush and hoping she hadn’t noticed.

When he returned with their clean clothes, she was lying on her side with the sheet up to her shoulders, the cobalt-blue satin of her nightgown dark against her creamy skin. Her eyes were half-closed and a bit curious as he put the clothes down on the trunk at the foot of the bed. An incongruous shyness hit him when he picked up his underwear and he turned away from her even while his heart protested it was okay, it was Laura.

_ She’d told him once he gave off too much heat for her to wear anything when she slept next to him, and he’d blamed his Tauron blood instead of the ancient air conditioning in his apartment. They’d been young and strong and beautiful in their nakedness then.  Shyness and reticence...those had been for other people. _

He tugged his boxer briefs on under the brown robe. Maybe for a little while, he could imagine what things would be like if life had turned out differently. He tried to imagine they were a long-married couple, their children out on their own, husband and wife getting some sleep after a long day. The fantasy comforted him as he laid his robe on the trunk next to hers and got into bed, the sheets cool against his skin.

“You okay?” He could hear the sleepiness in her voice. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Thanks for the toothbrush. I wasn’t exactly prepared to stay over.”

“I know. I’m glad you did, though.” She moved cautiously towards him, like she was testing the waters.

_ Water… _ he remembered how the pain of everything had washed over him like a flash flood once he stood in the shower, feeling like he was drowning in a bitter ocean until he felt her hand on his shoulder. She was his life preserver, his beacon out of the darkness, like he had tried to be for her, before everything went wrong.

Laura shifted next to him, their bodies not quite touching, her hand coming to rest on his chest. He felt something unlocking deep inside, and he breathed easier than he had all week. 

He turned towards her, her head resting on the pillow next to his. “Thanks for…you know…being there for me tonight. With the shower and everything. I don’t—“

She touched his lips. “Shh…Bill, it’s okay. I know something about what it’s like.”

“I know you do. I think you’re the only person in the twelve worlds I could’ve been with tonight and not gone crazy. And what you did with the pictures of the boys, of Zak…it’s like you gave me a part of him I didn’t have a chance to know, and it would have been lost forever without you.”

He felt her body stiffen and her hand went rigid on his skin. Her breathing was uneven, ragged in the quiet dark.

“I know what that’s like, too, Bill…to feel like there’s missing pieces in what you thought you knew about someone you love. Wondering what else there was that you didn’t know. It hurts so much…that hit me so hard when you were here that night after the funerals. It was like you knew my real dad and you were keeping him from me.” 

The room seemed to spin with images of the past. Her father’s voice as he gave Bill secrets, responsibilities he’d barely been old enough to understand. His uncle’s cautions about decades-old betrayals. He wished he could have one more conversation with Mr. Roslin, to ask him how far he wanted his daughter brought in to this.

He wished he’d had a chance to tell Zak he was more than an outlaw biker.

His son had gone to his grave not knowing who his father had really been. He looked down at the woman next to him and realized anything could happen after tonight. Hadn’t today, this week been proof enough that life was uncertain? 

More than thirty years after meeting Mr. Roslin’s determined, complex daughter, after all they’d been through, he was lying next to her tonight in the same house where they’d first met. They hadn’t spoken in three years, parted on the worst of terms, and she was willing to give him solace, and he was able to take it. 

If that wasn’t a sign it was time to end the secrets between them, he didn’t know what was.

“Laura?” 

She was still unyielding, keeping a few inches of bed between them. Her answering “yes” was in a hoarse whisper that said she’d been holding back unshed tears. He moved towards her then, putting an awkward arm around her shoulders. 

“In the morning, we’ll go in your dad’s office, and I’m going to tell you everything I know about your father.” He could feel his voice break on the word ‘father’ and wondered if she had heard it. 

The mattress shifted a fraction and he knew she had let go of some of the stiffness at his words. 

“Bill, we can wait, if you need to. I don’t want to…make anything harder for you right now.”

He wanted to start blurting out answers that would ease her heart but knew it would be an incoherent jumble if he started tonight. Dropping a light kiss on her temple, he whispered, “You’re not. It feels better, thinking about finally being honest with you.” 

There was just enough light coming in through the window for him to see the reflected glow in her eyes. Her skin was warm under his fingers as he stroked her cheek and murmured a soft “good night” by her ear. Then another wave of grief hit him, a mix of Zak and years lost and regrets of what might have been grabbing him by the throat, and her understanding gaze, even in the dark, was too much for him to bear.

He turned his back to her and let images of his son, her father, and a sandy shore leading to fields of green fill his mind. Through his tears, he could see their faces. It looked like they were smiling their approval as they faded into silvery mists.

 

################################

 

She woke slowly, the smell of his skin familiar from a lifetime ago, a different scent within her sheets. She kept her eyes closed while she felt him with her body, her legs moving towards him as he lay curled on his side. Turning her head to the right brought her face next to his broad back, and she inhaled the fresh herb-scented fragrance from their shower, mixed with that hint of citrus his skin had carried when he was just a boy, a young soldier barely twenty-one. He gave off a remembered heat in this new and different posture. Her eyes flickered open then, and she examined the curve of his naked spine in the streaming moonlight. Inked letters and images covered the expanse of skin down to his underwear and below.

The last time she’d shared a bed with him, he’d lain on his back, open and fearless in sleep, even though he’d known the loss of friends and at least one lover in battle. She smiled sadly at how young he’d been…how young they’d both been, how their self-confidence had whispered to them in their sleep that they were invincible. The curve of his back told her what his words couldn’t: there were some things that can’t be fought…they can only be endured. Her thoughts made her breath catch in her throat and her fingers shook as they traced over the outlines of ink, muscle and bone in front of her.

He began to straighten under her touch, bringing his leg back until it touched hers. He seemed to start, like he was surprised there was someone next to him. She wondered briefly if he’d thought she was someone else at first. As his leg insinuated itself back between her knees, she decided it didn’t matter. She would be whoever he needed her to be through this night. A wave of sympathy ran through her, followed by overwhelming gratitude for his promise for the morning. 

Maybe both of them could start healing in the light of tomorrow’s dawn. 

Edging closer, she touched her lips to the nape of his neck, burying her nose in the thickness of his hair. A low rumble encouraged her as she touched her hand to his hip and shifted to mold her thighs along the line of his ass. If she could cover him for a while, if she could be a barrier between him and what waited for him when daylight came, she’d stay like this all night.

“Whatever you need, Bill, whatever you want, I’m here,” she whispered by his ear. She hoped he could hear her, feel her wanting to give him whatever she could.

Even as the thought crossed her mind, he reached up and took her hand, pulling it over his waist and settling it on his belly. She raised enough on one elbow to see the side of his face—his eyelids twitched with dreaming sleep. She wondered if it had been as long for him as it had been for her, sharing a bed with another person all night long. 

She shifted her arm a couple of inches to get more comfortable, and drifted off again, her hand open and flat against his stomach. Stroking lightly against the fine hairs on his skin, her hand finally came to rest just under the waistband of his shorts. 

########################################

 

Bill slowly came to a half-waking foggy state, conscious of a hand resting scant inches from his cock. There was heat and softness against his back, a woman’s satin-covered breasts pressing against his skin there, heartbeat slow and even. He opened his eyes enough to get his bearings and saw the dressing table by the wall, legs covered in a gauzy flowered skirt. A white bench, the seat padded with dark pink velvet was in front of it. Two trophies at either end of the table caught the moonlight. He looked at the gilded running figures, and realized he knew what they looked like in bright mid-day light. 

_ Laura’s room. _

He turned his head and felt silky hair rubbing between his cheek and the pillow, fragrant with her scent. A cold wave of terrible knowing began building in his mind, threatening to wash away even this small comfort. 

_ My son. _

There were crushing, consuming thoughts locked away in his mind, demanding to be let out, crashing against the door. He swore he’d be back soon...in just a little while. He’d take everything behind the door waiting for him, if he could have a few minutes' reprieve. A few minutes of laying down his burdens. He waited with eyes shut tight for cold reality to smash the lock and let it all loose. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, he realized that his defenses were holding. The worst of his grief seemed willing to rest a while, on the other side of the door.

Voices echoed inside his head from thirty years ago. 

_ Take five, soldier. _

_ Get some rack time.  _

_ Your watch is over.  _

_ Stand down.  _

_ Permission granted. _

His chest loosened as he felt the relief of respite, however brief it might be. He turned over into Laura’s space and she was soft and warm, smelling of tea and last night’s soap. He pressed his face into the valley between her breasts, catching a remembered ginger scent that permeated her gown. His arm slipped over her waist to her back and he moved to rest his leg over the side of her satin-slick hip. 

His half-hard erection rubbed the sweet spot where her thigh met her soft folds under a wisp of fabric. She shifted against him as she stretched and the light friction was enough to bring him fully hard against her heat. One slender arm hooked around his back as he turned to nuzzle his mouth against the inner slope of her breast until he reached the nipple that seemed to be waiting just for him. A soft hum reverberated through her body. He felt its encouragement as his mouth closed on her, sucking, teasing the pebbled tip with his tongue and lips. 

The first time he had done this, so many years ago, she had jumped and gasped, and then her hips had rocked against his jeans-covered erection, there on the bank of the lake. He grazed his teeth over her flesh as he remembered the smell of the just-mown grass that had been under them back then.

Her fingers began twisting in his hair and he groaned as the past and present danced along his consciousness. A part of him registered the feel of changes in her body as he pushed her gown down to her waist…the fullness now under his hand had been tighter, firmer then, but she had a lushness now that was new and all her, and the quickening beat of her heart hadn’t changed. 

She tugged at his hair and he reluctantly released her breast while she pulled away long enough to skim her gown and panties down over her lifted hips. Moving with him until their mouths were together, she ran her fingers over his craggy cheeks and down to his jawline as she kissed him again. A brief thought— _ should’ve brushed my teeth again _ —flashed through his mind as he felt her soft lips under his. 

In this moment he could remember every kiss from her he’d ever had. She breathed against his mouth and he was quietly overjoyed that there was no fresh artificial mint taste between them, just the scent of the air warm from her lungs and the flavor of her tongue flicking against the corner of his lips, tracing its way into his mouth. 

As soon as their tongues touched, the air seemed to crackle with electricity and their kisses became rough and hungry. He felt the tingle of her nails on his skin and knew they’d be followed by deeper strokes until she was digging into his waiting chest and back. She threw a leg over his hip, and her firm touch on the back of his thigh told him to move it tight up between her legs as she rocked against him. 

Her touch turned demanding. Her thumb caught the edge of his waistband and shoved his briefs down his hips. A confident hand dipped inside and grazed the head of his cock, rubbing against the beaded fluid at the tip and igniting flames along his spine. He straightened awkwardly and pushed his briefs down until his cock was free, then further, until there was nothing between them but a fine sheen of sweat. 

Needing more than her mouth, he broke their kiss to start again on her neck, traveling down to the spot on her collarbone that still made her moan when he lightly bit against it. She pressed against him harder as he drifted a hand down over her stomach until his fingers hovered over her soft curls. 

She shifted again to give him more room, breathing hard into his ear, beginning to hum against his neck. His fingers pressed against her mound, going lower until her sensitive nub was under the pads of his fingers and her hums became moans. She whispered “Yes” and opened herself a little more. 

The scent of her arousal traveled up along their bodies and went right to his head, driving out everything but this moment and his memory of her whispered promise— _whatever you need_.   

_ Need _ roared through his mind like a windstorm as he pushed her onto her back, bringing his mouth down on hers in a hard claiming rhythm echoed in the movement of his fingers against her. 

Part of him wanted to go slower, draw this moment out, take his time with her. The rest of him whispered that dark riders were growling against his mind’s door, wanting to take this away, and they wouldn’t wait much longer. He gave in to his haste and hoped she’d forgive him later.

It was like their first time all over again, her head moving back and forth as if not believing her own body when it told her she was ready—told her she was almost there. Her legs shaking, she grabbed his hand to keep it right where it was, both falling towards her spiraling orgasm, her cheek pressed against his shoulder. She groaned and cursed and called on the Gods until her back arched, her head falling back while her shaking crested, then subsided.

They both were gasping, his breath sounding harsh against her throat. He moved the head of his cock through her folds, gathering her slick juices and running himself over her sensitive nub until she pushed against him, open and demanding. His slickness joined hers as she pulled him more fully over her waiting body. He could see her eyes in the dim moonlight, growing wide and urgent as he trembled above her, holding himself poised at her entrance, waiting.

_ Past and present collide again and she’s eighteen and nervous and he’s twenty-two and silently begging for one more yes so he knows it’s right and it’s good and it’s what she wants.   _

Her half-sobbed “yes” was still on her lips when he slid slowly into her, pausing at each hitch of her breath until he was fully enveloped in her welcoming heat. They began moving in the old familiar rhythms, the wordless song that was them, that had always been them. 

He braced his arms against the mattress, muscles corded with strain as he flexed his hips to drive deeper, grinding against her with each stroke. Her breaths were shallow and rough, a low whimpering humming deep in her throat. Her legs came up and wrapped around his thighs, then settled at his waist as her hands gripped his shoulders, fingers digging deep. 

They frakked away the years that had kept them apart and the years that had broken their hearts. Everything that hurt burned away in the lightning storm that was Bill and Laura, the two melting into one, flowing red and gold in the crucible created with their love.   



	35. A Wall of Denial (Is Falling Down)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill and Laura begin to work out if what they're sharing is comfort or something much more, but first, a wall of secrets has to be chipped away and neither know what will be left after the truth starts coming out.  
> "No matter what the trouble we carry round inside / We’re never safe from the truth but in the truth we can survive / When this wall of denial comes tumblin’ down / Down to the ground"

 

Laura edged carefully out of the bed, trapping the warmth of their bodies under the bedding. She held her breath until she was all the way out from under the covers, not relaxing until the even rise and fall of Bill’s chest told her he was still deeply asleep. Sunlight wouldn’t pour through the window until later in the day, and right now there was just a thin trickle of light filtering in through the blinds.

She walked carefully to the foot of the bed, her feet automatically avoiding the couple of squeaky boards under the paisley-patterned rug. She stooped to grab the discarded gown and underwear, wincing as her knee popped…one more part of her body that was reminding her she wasn’t eighteen any more.

Shrugging into the white robe, she walked silently to the door, easing the catch back and slipping through before closing it again. As energetic as Bill had been earlier, he needed all the sleep he could get before the day began in earnest.

Shepadded down the wooden stairs to the kitchen, finally relaxing when she knew she was out of earshot. Ducking into the downstairs bathroom, she tossed her nightwear into the hamper and took a few seconds to wash her face. _Damn_ …she realized her foaming cleanser and lotion were upstairs in the big bathroom. She told herself it wouldn’t matter just this once as she squirted liquid hand soap onto a cloth and began lightly scrubbing her skin.

As she washed, she started to pick out red marks here and there, a fine constellation arrayed over her collarbone and the base of her throat. Surely there was a scarf or two somewhere in one of her drawers, or she’d be running by her place on the way to work…she splashed cool water over her skin as she began tallying up what she’d need to do to—

_Get back to normal?_

_Is that what I need to do?_

She arched an eyebrow at her reflection. _Who the frak do you think you’re kidding?_

Sighing, she picked up her mother’s hand mirror and checked her rear reflection, holding up her hair with one hand as she  let the robe drop. Red marks and a couple of scratches were scattered along her shoulder from when she’d been on her stomach, hands fisted into the pillows and a corner of the sheet between her teeth, and her hips had been canted up, and he… _oh, Gods, there was a strawberry-sized bite mark on her ass._

She put the mirror down and pulled the robe back around her. Trying to ignore the flush she could feel spreading up her cheeks, she tied the belt again and tried to remember how Bill liked his coffee.

 _Bill_.

She filled the carafe with water and began measuring out fresh coffee. The first time had been from hurt and desperation, and years of stymied love. The second time had been colored by lust and fear that they’d never get another chance, fear of what the night would hold if they stopped. She wasn’t sure where their energy had come from, but she had been in no mood to deny it and neither, apparently, had he. She could tell she’d be sore tomorrow, and her muscles would feel worse before they felt better, but it’d been more than worth it.

Humming to herself as she got out mugs and spoons and poured milk into a small creamer, she realized she remembered this particular sweet ache. This was Bill. This was what being with him felt like: a rich satiation edged with the aftermath of going further that she’d thought possible. The stubble of his cheek against the inside of her arm. His callused hand gripping her instep. A jolt of tingly sensation ran through her pelvis so sharp and hot she almost let go of the sugar bowl.

_All I need to do right now is make the damn coffee._

She pulled out the shell and bamboo tray her father had brought back from Picon his last trip there. Maybe by the time she got back to her room, and her first lover, she’d figure out what to do about “what happens now”.

.

#############################

.

_He looks younger when he’s asleep._

The stress lines had eased in his face, and she could see so clearly the young man he had been, under the weathered skin and morning stubble. She set the tray down on the nightstand and sat on the side of the bed next to him. He looked so peaceful. She hated to wake him, knowing what was waiting. Taking a deep breath, she laid a hand on his exposed arm and leaned towards his ear.

“Good morning.”

Part of her wanted to look away from what she knew she’d see. His eyes opened and he gave her a loving smile full of the night’s sweetness, and he looked so happy as he reached for her, to take her hand…. She wished she could freeze the moment, let him stay there in the not-knowing place for a while longer. It could be such a cruel place that made everything hurt more, and she knew he’d be visiting that place every morning for a long time.

His face twisted, a beat of confusion showing before reality set in, and grief settled his face into lines that made him look older than his years. He took her hand and looked at it with a dulled gaze.

“Morning.” He sighed and looked up. “Every morning, there’s that second, you know? That split second before I remember. And then it hits again.”

I know, sweetheart.” The endearment felt strange and untried on her tongue. She wasn’t used to using terms of endearment with Richard, but it seemed to fit here. She wondered if she could get used to saying this.

“It’s awful, but…it gets better after a while. It’s a nice place to be for that split second, sometimes.”

He drew himself up in the bed until he was sitting with his back against the headboard. “I hadn’t thought about it like that.” He pulled her against his chest and she relaxed into his embrace.

“Last night was…I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry I—“

“Of all the things you might say, Bill, ‘sorry’ is the most unnecessary.” She looked up at him. “You could say ‘that was amazing’, or ‘it was about time’, or ‘I think I pulled a muscle’…” Her grin was met with a surprised smile and a lightening of his gaze as he swatted her shoulder playfully and pulled her tighter against him.

“Gods, Laura, I—“

“I brought up some coffee,” she broke in, not ready to hear what he might say next. “You still take cream and sugar?”

The puzzled look in his eyes was fleeting but she still caught it. She kissed his shoulder to take some of the sting out of her dodge and leaned towards the mugs. “I’ll take ‘that was amazing’. And I agree whole-heartedly.”

He took her wrist in a firm grip. “I got that you enjoyed it, Laura. I did, too. I think we’re both clear on that part. But me being here, us being here together…are you okay with that? Because”—he held up a hand to stop her as she began to answer—“because this was more than a great lay.” He looked down, tracing patterns on the back of her hand before looking into her eyes again.

“We made love last night.” A smile flickered around his mouth. “And this morning. That’s how it was for me.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the tips of her fingers. “I’m no temple priest, but I haven’t made love with anyone in a long time. Maybe never, besides you.”

Tears pricked at her eyes. “Bill, you’re in a really raw place right now. I feel the same way, I really do, but…I’m not sure this is a good time to decide what things mean, you know? We made love, and it was wonderful, and…incredibly powerful and right.” She withdrew her hand from his and got up from his embrace. As she poured steaming coffee into the thick china mugs, she searched his face, still so unguarded.

“Can we just hang on to that, for now, and not think about what it means?” She stirred cream and sugar into his coffee, focusing on the swirls of light and dark in the heavy mug.

“Yeah…wouldn’t want to rush things. It’s only been thirty years.” The hurt in his voice was mild but unmistakable under the light sarcasm.

She handed him his cup. “A lot’s happened in those thirty years, Bill. We’re not the kids we were back then.” She sipped at her coffee as she searched for the right words. “I think there’s probably a reason that we never ended up with anyone else long-term. The Gods work in mysterious ways. Let’s be okay with that for the time being.”

He nodded slowly. “For the time being. But Laura, when things settle down, we need to talk. I’m not getting any younger, and neither are you. And I don’t want to wait another thirty years to take a stand on what all of this”—his arm described a circle beginning at her high school trophies and ended pointing towards the world outside the window—“what it all means. There’s something here between us, and it’s big, and it’s gonna be here after I’ve made my peace with losing my son.”

He got out of bed, placing the mug down and holding her shoulders, wanting and determination in his eyes. The sun had risen higher and the rays through the blinds lit his naked body, glancing off his skin in patterns of bronze and gold.

“It’s not always going to be about comfort, Laura. It’s too real for that.”

She looked over his chest, his markings, and the face that had become beautiful to her so many years ago. It would be so easy, to take all of him, make him her rock, like he’d always been willing to be. She could stop thinking so hard about him, stop asking questions….

_Questions._

She moved into his arms, letting her hands play along the warm breadth of his back and shoulders, reveling for a minute in the smooth skin that held ripples here and there from ink and scars.

“I’m not saying you’re wrong, Bill. I feel it, too. But there’s a lot I need to know before we have that kind of conversation.”

“But you’ll be there, right? While we work on having that conversation?”

His neck was warm under her lips. “I’m not going anywhere that I don’t have to go, Bill. I want this, too.”

She shoved thoughts of where she’d have to go come Monday to the back of her mind. Today, the only place she had to be was by his side while he shared her father’s secrets. While he shared his life with her. And she’d share as much as she could. She hoped that would be enough for now.

The study was cool and a bit musty, a thin layer of dust overlaying the desk and bookshelves. Heavy drapes were still drawn from the last time she’d been in here and it seemed wrong, somehow, to pull them back today.

Laura switched on the lamps by the worn leather couch and the small adjustable reading light on her father’s desk. She aligned an engraved paperweight that had been shoved awry, maybe as long ago as the night she and Bill were in here, her telling him she never wanted to see him again. “Teacher of the Year” read the engraving. Now she could find out, finally, what more her father had been.

By reflex, she picked up an ink pen and a half-used pad of paper, ready to take notes on a critical meeting. Bill gently took them out of her hands and put them back down.

“It’s better if you don’t do that. Don’t try to fit everything together right now…just listen.”

She stared at him, her eyebrow raised, until he added, “And I’d need to ask you to destroy those later, anyway.”

“This is going to be complicated, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Do you mind if I sit here?” He laid a hand on the back of her father’s oversized desk chair, waiting.

“That’s fine, Bill. Whatever’s comfortable for you.” She sat on the edge of the leather guest chair. She could still get a faint wisp of pipe tobacco and smoke as she looked at her father’s desk.

The leather creaked as he sat down across the desk from her, hands tented in front of him and a solemn look on his face. An old dread from her past came over her as she took in his demeanor. Her father had been sitting exactly like Bill was now when he told her about her mother’s cancer spreading.

She scooted the chair closer until she could prop her elbow on the desk and got as comfortable as she could, leaning her chin into her hand. Reaching across the desk, she gently tugged his hands apart until she could link her fingers with his.

“Whenever you’re ready, Bill.”

 

.

##########################################

 

.

He should have rehearsed this. He should have started preparing for this day after he left her house that night, even with her saying she never wanted to see him again. He should have known it would come down to them in this room, her green eyes bright with questions.

“Is there anything you want to hear first?” He had it all in his mind like a history report, but he doubted she wanted a recitation of dates and incidents.

“Yes.” He watched the pain wash over her expression. “I want to know why he never told me himself.”

He ran his thumb over her knuckles. “I asked him that a couple of times over the years. For what it’s worth, I thought he should have said something, but….”

He shrugged. “Your dad always said keeping you out of this part of his life was a gift that he wanted to give to you.” His lips tightened. “After my boys got older, I realized he’d been right. I was glad that my kids—that Zak—never had to carry that burden around with them, tainting everything. Lee still doesn’t know the whole story.” He watched her forehead crease between her eyebrows and hated he was the cause of that.

“So, that’s your answer. He thought it would make you miserable...keep you from enjoying life as long as you could.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “So, what’s this big burden?”

His fingers tightened on hers. “There’s a lot of background history you need to know first. It’s complicated.”

“Just tell me, Bill. You can go back and fill in the background later.” She pulled her hand out of his and fell back into the chair, arms crossed. “What’s this big burden he wanted to protect me from?” Her words were crisply enunciated, her tone saying this had better be the last time she had to ask.

“Okay, okay....” He held his hands up in surrender. He was terrified he’d say it wrong, that it would come out a confusing mess, but she’d asked a clear question, and he owed her as clear as answer as he could give.

“Your father, and the men he worked with, thought we’d be at war with the Cylons again.”

She exhaled loudly and rolled her eyes. “Bill, I’ve heard that before…my Gods, that’s why we’ve got a Defense Department. That’s why we still do emergency drills. That’s not news.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. _He was frakking it up already._

“That didn’t come out right, Laura. He thought we’d be at war with the Cylons because certain factions in the military planned to deliberately provoke them into attacking the Twelve Colonies again.”

That seemed to be clearer, going by the way she was sitting, frozen and speechless. The aged leather creaked under his thighs and he selfishly wished for just a second that Mr. Roslin had done this before he died and not left it for him.

“Why? Why would anyone want to start another war with the Cylons?” She was pressing herself against the back of her chair, like she was trying to distance herself from him and his words.

“According to your father, the motivation was money.”

He watched her struggle to take everything in. Gods knew he’d found it hard to believe himself, years ago when Mr. Roslin had recruited him. He had barely begun adjusting to civilian life again when his uncle introduced him to the other side of Edward Roslin.

He’d known the man all his life, a casual friend of his father and uncle. He’d come over after dinner, spend time talking at the kitchen table with the men of his family, joined now and then by people he didn’t know.

Once, when he’d asked too many questions, his uncle had taken him outside. He could still hear Sam Adama’s voice….

_“Mr. Roslin knew your father’s other family, Bill. His first wife, and your sister, Tamara, and your brother, Willie. He was Willie’s teacher.”_

Bill remembered the flash of jealousy he’d gotten at the mention of his dad’s first family. It had made him ashamed, and sad for his mother.

_“So, why does he still come around?”_

His uncle’s face had turned cold then, and he had looked more like the Ha’la’tha enforcer he was than the kindly uncle he seemed to be when he was around his nephew.

_“Adult reasons, Bill. He’s a friend of the family.”_

His uncle had finally smiled and had given him a half-cubit to go down to the newsstand and buy a comic book, but not before giving him a shark-like look of warning and telling him to keep quiet about who came and went at the Adama house.

Laura had finally gained some composure. “Money...to risk a war that would kill thousands, maybe millions this time? What kind of money would be worth that? And to who?”

“That’s what I said, too. It sounded crazy when he told me. But your father spent most of his adult life running data analyses on arms manufacturers, defense spending, companies that made Viper engines and Battlestar components….”

She had started shaking her head. “His adult life...he was a teacher. He was a boxing fan. He had a monthly Triad game with guys he hung around with in college. He belonged to a frakking Caprican History club. He did educational outreach at the Veteran’s clubs, did some lobbying. I’m not an idiot, Bill. I just don’t see how….”

She stopped talking and he knew something had clicked in her mind. She looked like she had when she had opened her father’s safe, and he wondered how hard she’d worked to shut that memory away, only for him to rip it open again.

“Remember that night...here, when I said he had heard some things that were going on at the Defense Department?”

“I remember.” Her look had turned wary as she waited for him to continue.

“He had a lot of meetings out of the house, right? And there were times he said he was working on proposals and papers, and he’d be in here working for hours, wouldn’t he?”

She nodded slowly, then looked at him with dull, defeated eyes. In the mix of emotions he could read in her face, he thought he saw grudging acceptance winning out.

“This has to do with...I got a flag, Bill. After the funeral. A man who wouldn’t say who he was came to my apartment with a Colonial flag. He said it was with gratitude for Dad’s service.”

Looking down at her hands, she continued, “I stuffed it in my closet. It made me so mad, making me doubt who he was. I haven’t looked at it since.”

She sighed. “Maybe if I had, I would have asked more questions. Given you a chance to explain.”

“We’re here now, Laura. That’s what counts.”

Bill tried to make his voice as gentle as possible as he rearranged everything she thought she knew about how her father spent his life.

.

.


	36. Staring Out at Great Divides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura thought they still had so much in common, had shared so much (sometimes unknowingly) but while she's still reeling from unfolding secrets, something happens that jars her with the divide between Bill's life and hers. 
> 
> "I spoke to the faintest first starlight / And I said next time / Next time / We'll get it right"

  


Morning sun was fighting its way through the drapes where they didn’t quite meet, illuminating the dust motes in the air around her and washing out her color.

“When did this start? How long did my father have this other life? Since the war?” Her hands had wrapped around the arms of the chair, nails digging into the leather.

He could say yes, he realized. He could say it started then, her father hiding things from her. She’d never have to know. She could hold on to some of her childhood memories, keep them untainted. It would be easier on both of them. His eyes dropped to the panel under the desk that had held so many secrets over the years.

“Bill?”

“Laura, I’m not exactly sure….” He watched her eyes search his face, looking for as much truth as he possessed. Frak. He started this. He’d have to finish it.

“I’m not sure, but I know it started before I was born.”

Her widening eyes told him that was more truth than she’d expected.

He described his memories of her father in his home, his uncle’s guarded explanations. The secrets and whispers.

“I can’t believe this.” Her lips were drawn into a tight line. “Life was normal right up until the attacks. We were caught by surprise. My Gods, Bill, I attended seminars on the cause and effect of the Cylon war. Everything I ever read, everything I ever heard—“

“Was a lie.” He raked his fingers through his hair, searching for a way to help her understand.

“Laura, remember when you were eight or so, you and your mom went to live in the country with a friend of your mom’s?”

She looked at him, a touch of suspicion in her eyes. “Rachel Collins. Yes, I remember. My parents said they were thinking about moving and wanted to see how we’d like it. Dad was going to look for a teaching job in the area, but then the war started.

“I always wondered if my parents had split up over something, or…I don’t know. It was so confusing. Mom and Dad argued when they thought I wasn’t around, she’d be crying, and I didn’t know what to think. And then the Cylons attacked, and…I try not to think about that time.”

“They didn’t split up, Laura. Your father and the people he worked with—had been working with since he was at university—they knew the attacks were coming. He sent his family where he thought you’d be safer.” He gave her a weak smile. “And it worked.”

She pushed the chair back like she suddenly needed more space. Rising to her feet, she began pacing in front of the desk. He understood how she felt. There were nights he’d heard too much to be able to keep still, as well.

“So, he knew since he was in school? Gods, how did he get involved in this?”

“I’m not sure, but I do know that there was never a time I didn’t know your father.”

Her head jerked up at his words. “I remember him saying something about that once. Dad said he’d taught the first William Adama. He said there had been a connection between our families, but he didn’t really go into it,” she said. She looked at him curiously.

Bill sighed heavily. His feelings were still complicated whenever he thought about his father’s first family.

“I know he knew my dad’s other family before the war…his first wife, their kids. My half-sister and half-brother, Tamara and Willie. Your father had Willie in his class the day they got killed. He walked him to the principal’s office so our grandmother could take him home.”

He ran his hand over his face, looking into the shadows of the drapes like answers to past mysteries were there.

“I never understood that part, how it fit in. My dad wasn’t a huge drinker, but once a year or so, he’d start drinking Tauron whisky until he was practically blind drunk and in a rage. He’d say, then, that it was the first Cylon who killed his wife and daughter.”

Laura frowned. “I remember my dad talking about your brother, but wasn’t the accident years before the war? Before we even knew about Cylons?”

He shrugged. “That’s what I thought, too. I looked it up years ago and all I could find was that they’d been in a terrorist bombing. I asked your dad about it once and he told me to let the dead stay dead, how it started didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was not letting it happen again.”

She nodded as she paced. “That sounds like my dad.” She walked around the desk and leaned against it, looking down at him. “So how did you get involved in this?”

Bill studied his hands for a moment. He’d asked himself that same question over the years. He thought of spinning the facts just enough to sound like he’d been a true patriot from the beginning…no, he’d said he would be honest from now on, made that promise upstairs in her bed. They’d never move on from their past, he’d never be able to live with himself, if he started hedging now.

“Like I said, I always kind of knew your father. When I came back from the war, I was in pretty bad shape. I’d lost…some people I was close to. Seen a lot I didn’t understand. My uncle had to go underground for a few years and my father…we’d always had a lot of differences and that didn’t get any better.” He absently rubbed at his Viper tattoo under his sleeve.

”Your dad tried to help me adjust. Did things like asking me to teach his oldest girl how to drive a straight-drive.”

He let himself relax enough to give her a grin full of fond memories and was gratified to finally see the hint of a smile on her lips.

“I was so scared then, the night of that ice storm.”

“That makes two of us.” He surprised himself with a chuckle. “Scared of the conditions, of your father, of you. I felt like such a rook that night.”

Her smile widened. “I couldn’t tell. I thought you were wonderful, but I figured you wouldn’t have time for a high school kid.”

He covered her hand on the desk with his, and they sat there for a moment, remembering, until she pulled her hand away.

“I have to ask, Bill—that summer, before college—that was real, wasn’t it? Or was that something to do with all this?” She waved her hand towards the safe.

“Oh, Gods, no, Laura! That was one of the most real, most genuine parts of my life.” He fought the sick feeling that rose in his stomach at her questioning the beginning of their love, and claimed her hand again.

“Your father started talking to me after you went off to college, feeling out where I stood on things. It took a while, and I...well, I was making some bad decisions.”

_Like not trying harder with you. Like letting my pride get in the way. Like Carolanne._

“Not that they were all bad.” An image of an arrogant face, taking punch after punch as punishment for hurting Laura swam through his mind. That would be a story for another time.

“I guess that was when he really started recruiting me. I didn’t learn everything all at one time, but I learned enough to want to be a part of what he was doing. So did some of the men I had served with. And when he helped me get through some things when I went to prison the first time, and after...I knew I’d done the right thing.”

Her voice was soft as she squeezed his hand. “Do you still feel that way? That you’ve done the right thing?”

“I do.” He brought her hand to his face and closed his eyes as he leaned his cheek against the back of her hand. “I hate what it’s done to you, giving you so many doubts about him, about me. But I’d do it again, Laura. That’s how much I believed in your father and his work.”

She edged closer until she was almost in front of him, cupping his face with her other hand and looking into his eyes. “You’re saying that my dad was a good man, a patriot. He loved us, and you helped him when he asked you to. That’s what I needed to hear right now, Bill. The war, the dirty secrets, what’s looming ahead…I can wait on that, for a little while. I want to know everything, but”—she smiled and pushed away from the desk—“this is a good start.”

“You sure? I can go on.”

“You go upstairs and bring down Zak’s pictures while I fix some lunch, okay? I’ve got to get out of this room for a while.”

He heard her underlying message _: I’ve got to get out of the murk of the past for a while._ He rose and they left the study behind them, closing the heavy paneled door on the secrets of the past—for now.

############

They were finishing up grilled cheese sandwiches and a fresh tomato salad, the box of photographs between them on the table, when Bill’s phone rang. Laura watched his face turn grim as his hand clutched the phone tight in his fist.

“Get it started, Saul. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Is Lee there?” His faced eased a fraction. “Okay, good. Be there shortly.” He flipped the phone closed.

“What’s the matter?” He looked as if he’d forgotten the pictures of his son, and the promises he’d made to get back to clearing up the years of lies.

“I’m sorry, Laura. There’s an emergency at the club. I’ve got to get back there.” He was already getting out of his seat.

“What’s wrong? Is someone hurt?” _Emergency_ now always sounded like someone was injured or dead…it had since her family’s accident. Her sense of alarm began rising as he pulled on his leather cut that had been hanging off the back of the chair.

“No, no one’s hurt….” He froze and looked down at his heavy motorcycle boot. “I need to ask you for a favor.”

She went to his side, one hand on his arm. “Sure, Bill. Do you need me to come with you?”

His shocked look gave her his answer before he opened his mouth. “No--it’s....” He turned his gaze to the hallway for a moment. “Look, I need to put something in your dad’s safe, if it’s okay.”

Her feelings of suspicion that had started to ebb over the course of the morning came slamming back, almost by reflex. She told herself he had made a show of good faith, he had answered her most pressing questions, and been willing to continue until he was interrupted. He was radiating tension now, wired and ready to get back to his club.

“Sure, if you need to, I guess. What is it?” She stood with her arms crossed in front of him, waiting for him to tell her he couldn’t say, or to otherwise deflect her question. His eyes searched her face as she stood there, and she knew he was weighing the trust between them that had started rebuilding last night.

He bent and pulled up his pants leg, then reached into the top of his right boot, pulling out a small handgun. Laura took a step back before she could stop herself. He held it by the grip, short barrel pointed at the floor.

“Do you not have a...a valid permit or something? Why can’t you take it with you?” It was obvious he was comfortable with carrying guns—his boot had a thin holster on the inside and he apparently was used to walking around with it.

“It’s had a couple of…modifications. Listen, if this is too uncomfortable for you, I’ll figure something out on my way there.” He turned to leave, gun still dangling from his hand.

“Wait.” She grabbed his arm. She could feel him start to put her in his mental column of people he couldn’t count on, after all. And right now, she didn’t know if either of them could stand that. Not after last night. Not after the secrets that had been aired out this morning.

“It’s okay, Bill. Come on, let’s get this done.” She tugged him in the direction of the office, catching a glimpse of his surprise and relief as they went down the hall.

“Are you going to tell me what this is about? I’m trusting you that what you’re asking me to do is the right thing here, but still, I’d like to know what’s going on.”

He stood in front of her father’s safe, punching in a code number like he was confident she hadn’t changed it. His shoulders hunched slightly and she wondered if he was trying to come up with a believable story. The door swung open and he shoved the weapon inside, closing and locking the safe again.

She thought he wasn’t going to answer until he faced her and held her arms, his gaze begging for understanding.

“Saul got word that the Caprican Bureau of Weapons is trying to find a judge in the city to sign a search warrant for the club. A…friend of the club is trying to delay things, but they’ll be all over the place in an hour.” His look darkened again and his lips drew tight. “They knew guys from charters all over the Twelve Colonies would be coming in for the funeral. Either they’re counting on somebody holding something they shouldn’t or it’s an attempt to demoralize the clubs by busting in after my kid’s funeral.”

Laura was taken aback by the anger she felt towards a government agency. The CBW had an office one floor down from her…she’d seen members of their staff at the main coffee lounge in her building. They suddenly felt like the enemy, and she felt her world shift a bit more on its axis.

_As if it hadn’t shifted enough already today._

She followed Bill back to the kitchen and stopped him at the garage door. “Is there anything else I can do? I need you safe and out of jail to finish telling me everything.” She gave him a hesitant smile and was rewarded with a sudden beaming look of gratitude and love. He pulled out another phone from his jeans pocket, cheap and flimsy-looking.

“Can you call my…friend, Saul, and tell him I’m leaving now? Just tell him the Old Man is on his way as of”—he checked the clock—“thirteen-twenty.”

She took the phone and opened it. It had two numbers programed into it, Bill’s and this Saul guy’s. She flipped it closed as he swept her into a close hug and gave her a quick but thorough kiss. “I’ll call you as soon as I can. We’re nowhere near through with everything we need to talk about.”

He let her go and slipped through the door, leaving her there in the kitchen looking down at the cheap phone. She heard the garage door open and his motorcycle roar to grumbling life as she hit the speed-dial.

“Yeah!” The voice at the other end of the call was gruff and raspy…and maybe just a little bit anxious. Laura cleared her throat.

“I’m…um, supposed to tell you that Bi—the Old Man is on his way, as of thirteen-twenty.”

“Who the frak…oh, this is the Roslin chick, right?”

She stared down at the handset. The _Roslin chick_? She had an almost irresistible urge to giggle.

“Yeah, I guess I am.” She waited, phone back to her ear.

The man on the other end of the line made a noise that could have been a chuckle.

“We’ll take good care of him, honey. Wish us luck.”

She started to say “good luck” when she heard the phone click off. She closed the phone with a thoughtful deliberateness.

_The Old Man and the Roslin chick._

Picking up one of the few family pictures still set out, she looked into her father’s eyes, remembering the day he introduced her to Bill Adama, and shook her head, bemused.

_Daddy, what have you gotten me into?_

################

Two hours later, Laura had done a load of laundry, washed the dishes, and run the vacuum cleaner. She was running out of ways to occupy her time. Everywhere she looked, there was a reminder of old secrets: family pictures of a country picnic in the back yard of what apparently had been a safe house instead of the home of an old family friend, a group of her father’s colleagues that were either part of stage dressing or more men with secrets. By noon she had had enough.

After she changed out of her jeans and into weekend professional—gray slacks and a light ivory sweater—she studied the two sets of keys on her dresser, finally picking up her usual set that held the keys to her bland four door sedan and leaving behind the keys embossed with wild horses. She already had in mind the route she’d take to go to the larger grocery store outside of town…the last thing she needed now was an eye-catching vintage ride.

It was a bright, beautiful day, the sun high overhead and the skies clear of all the recent rain. The garage door slid closed, hiding again the tarp-covered Mustang as she pulled out of the drive. Fifteen minutes later, she turned right and began slowing as she neared _Adama Automotive Repair_. The huge metal gates had been left standing open at the front of the lot.

“Oh my Gods….” Her throat tightened as she counted the police cars in the lot. At least three that she could see, parked randomly in front of the office and garage bays, and an ominous black sedan with darkened windows. Two armed men in county sheriff uniforms stood guard over a row of men lying on their stomachs on the asphalt, hands over the backs of their necks. A man in a suit and dark glasses stood over them, turning his head now and then to look towards the activity inside the shop.

Laura pulled her car to the curb, letting the engine idle as she studied the scene. Bill was between Lee and a man she remembered from the funeral, an older man with close-cropped hair circling a bald spot. Past them, she could see other men in uniform and two more in suits walking around the inside of the garage, opening tool drawers and peering inside cabinets.

She looked again at Bill, chest tightening with fear and empathy. Her eyes flew wide when she realized he seemed to be grinning as he turned his head to talk with the men beside him. As she watched the older man flash a grin of his own, she eased her car back into traffic. Whatever was going on, Bill didn’t seem too worried about it. She relaxed a bit as she finally let herself think about what to pick up to fix for dinner.

She wryly wondered when, exactly, she had assumed that Bill would be back for dinner. A flickering heat ran through her body from the hollow of her throat to her sex, and she decided that the timing really didn’t matter. What mattered is that she knew they’d be together another night, to sort out questions and answers, and whatever else the evening might bring.

########################################

She turned over the sealed bag that held a pound of shrimp and a cup of spicy marinade, noting that the translucent flesh had started taking on the coloring of the spices and chilies she had added. Checking the seal on the container of sliced vegetables she had prepared an hour earlier, she carried her glass of Sauvignon Blanc into the living room. A smile lit her face as she heard the firm rap on the door.

There was something that felt very right about starting dinner in the family kitchen, waiting on him to get home. He had called over an hour ago to let her know he would be there, but that didn’t compare to knowing that he, and the answers he carried, were on the other side of the door.

“I was waiting for the sound of your bike,” she said, smiling as she let him in.

He kissed her cheek, then stood in front of her, his hands at her shoulders and his eyes saying he couldn’t get enough of the sight of her.

“I took one of the loaners. Figured it’d be less conspicuous.”

She motioned him towards the kitchen. “It’ll be ready in a minute. Are you hungry?”

“Starved.” He opened the refrigerator. “Hey, you remembered what I drink,” he said as he took out a bottle of beer from the pack she’d bought earlier

“I took a guess. I remembered seeing that brand in the fridge when I visited my Dad.” Had she ever asked her father why he kept Old Tauron lager on hand when he preferred single malt scotch? Would he have seen that as an opening if she had? Would he have admitted that Bill Adama was a frequent visitor and gone on to explain why?

Probably not.

With even the small amount of new information she now had about her father, she doubted that a casual question would have prodded him to disclose any secrets. She stared at the straw-colored wine in the glass and realized she was glad she hadn’t given her father yet another reason to mislead her.

The crack and hiss of the bottle opening nudged her out of her thoughts.

“So, what happened this afternoon?”

Bill shrugged and took a long swallow. “They served us with a search warrant for weapons and large amounts of money. Apparently there had been a gun store robbery the other side of Old Caprica City. Or so the warrant said.”

Pans rattled together as she looked for the right sized sauté pan under the sink. “Why did they think you had something to do with that?”

He reached over her head to the hanging rack of pots and pans over the bar and lifted down a large pasta cooker and sat it on the stove. “They said they had a witness who saw bikers fleeing the scene.”

She took the cooker and filled it with water, as a small voice in the back of her mind whispered, _We work well together...he seems to anticipate what I need before I even ask._

_He was always good at that._

She turned the burner on, then asked, “How did you know this was going on?”

“The CBW has to coordinate with local law enforcement before they execute a search warrant.”

She didn’t want to think about the level of corruption and secrecy implied by his answer. Measuring a dollop of olive oil by eye, she added it to the pan and waited for it to heat. “So they didn’t find anything?”

He chuckled as he took another long draught of beer. “Yeah. They found just short of a misdemeanor amount of weed on a prospect with no priors, and an unregistered gun on a new member with no criminal record. The CBW got the local badge to issue citations, then they went away mad.”

“What would have happened if they’d found that gun you had?” She added the shrimp one by one to the sizzling pan.

He grew serious. “It’s been illegally modified, no serial number, not registered…and I’ve got a criminal record. I’d be in jail right now, waiting on a bond hearing.”

She knew he was studying her as she felt a shiver go up her spine. She wondered what the charge would be if a law-abiding member of Adar’s cabinet was found with something like that. The shrimp began to turn pink as she flipped them over in the pan and thought about how Richard would react to a call that she’d been found in possession of an illegal weapon.

He handed her the container of vegetables, then put a couple of handfuls of dry noodles into the large pot of boiling water. “But that’s not how it went down, so we’re in the clear. Sorry that had to happen before we’d finished with our talk.”

She slowly added the onions, garlic, and chopped chilies to the sauté pan and turned the heat down. “It’s okay. I needed some time to think about what you’d said.” She tensed her shoulders, debating with herself. Finally she spoke again. “I drove by the shop on my way to the store. I saw you and the others lying on the ground.”

He came up behind her and wrapped his sturdy arms around her waist. “I’m sorry you had to see that. It’s just a routine precaution they take. It's no big deal.”

She was glad he couldn’t see her face. It might not have been a big deal to him, but she’d never been involved in a scene like that. What did it say about his life that being held at gunpoint down on the ground, hands over his head, was “routine?”

Laura relaxed back into him as she stirred the noodles. What did it say about her that she accepted his explanation, his way of looking at things, so easily? His arms tightened around her waist and she could feel the sculpted muscles under his denim sleeves. He bent to kiss the side of her neck and she got a whiff of his citrus-smoky fragrance, mingled with the scent of the spices roasting in the pan.

What all this meant was definitely something she should give some careful thought to....

_Later._


	37. The Revelator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truths from the past begin to be revealed.
> 
> “Laura, there are things I might not be able to tell you, but I won’t lie to you. I’m done with that. Go ahead and ask me whatever you need to.”

He felt so solid and warm against her as she stood at the stove. She could almost believe this was a typical weekend evening, a quiet dinner, followed by more discussion….

Then he excused himself to go retrieve his illegal gun from her father’s safe. Reality came hurtling back in, and her mind filled with a hundred different things that could have gone horribly wrong today.

She turned the burners off and reached for the wine bottle on the counter, pouring until her wineglass was almost brimming over. She drank deep, then topped up her glass again.

She could have been spotted as she sat idling outside of his garage. She could be on someone’s security camera footage. She let herself visualize the scene again, and knew it hadn’t been the fear of being seen that was now making her hands shake.

Bill could have said or done one wrong thing, and a twitchy deputy could have pulled the trigger. The wine churned in her stomach as she realized that, for all the grinning banter she had seen from a distance, she could as easily have been watching… 

She fled to the hall bathroom, turning the water on as she bent and let the now-sour wine come back up. Rational thought warred with her body as she tried to tell herself the danger was over.

His brains didn’t get splattered all over the pavement. He’s fine. He’s right here…

_This time._

She ran cold water into a glass and sipped at it until she stopped shaking. If he had been rattled by the events of the day, she might have been okay. His ease, though…the routine way he dealt with armed officers barking orders, told her more than his words had. His life put him…no, _kept_ him in danger.

She splashed water on her face, drying off as she heard his footsteps in the hallway. She hoped her eyes wouldn’t look as haunted to him as they looked to her in the mirror over the sink.

She met him as she opened the door, and was against his chest before she realized she was moving. His arms pulled her closer and for a few seconds Laura felt a rush of safety. She could tell herself it would be okay, he’d survived this long, he had plenty of experience….

Then she saw the image of a tri-folded flag in the hands of an unnamed man and she couldn’t stop the shudder that  ran through her.

“What’s the matter, Laura? Are you okay?” His chest rumbled as he spoke, and she breathed in the warm masculine scent of his skin where his shirt opened. She opened her mouth to offer him reassurances, then closed it again. He could have told her anything about his call, made up an accident, kept her out of it. She owed him the truth.

“It just hit me how badly things could have gone this afternoon. Not just that you could have been arrested.” She pulled back and looked up into his eyes. “I’ve seen you in prison before…I hate the thought, but I’ve seen you come through it.” The sympathy and love she saw in his eyes seemed to pull the words from her.

“But today, I realized how fast things could turn deadly. The way you reacted, you being so calm…I thought I was handling it okay until just a few minutes ago.” She put her head back on his chest as he stroked her hair.

“I wondered if this was going to happen. You always were one to hold it together until after the crisis was over.” He kissed her temple as he moved his hand in soothing circles against her back. “ You've got a lot of soldier in you, you know?” She could hear the pride in his voice.

_And if that’s not what I want to be? What happens then?_

. .

*****************************************************

. .

They changed to more neutral talk after returning to the kitchen, as he set the table and she finished seasoning the shrimp and noodles. At her suggestion Bill brought the box of Zak’s pictures to the table and took out the ones he hadn't seen yet.

Their arms touched from time to time as they sat next to each other, a row of field trip pictures spread out in front of them. Zak with his class at the Flight Museum, expression rapt as he stared at an early generation Viper. Another photo showed Zak sitting next to Laura at a picnic table, the only child in the shot without a man sitting next to him.

Bill finished chewing and looked at Laura out of the corner of his eye. “What’s the story here?”

“The school had a Father’s Day picnic. I didn't think it was such a good idea. Zak wasn't the only one who didn't have a father…available, but I got voted down.”

“Did you sit with him the whole time?”

She looked at the picture and felt the years fall away. She had been so young then. And her family…

“No, but my dad came by and spent some time with the kids who didn’t have their fathers there.” She smiled as she remembered the light in her father’s eyes. “I think it reminded him of what he loved about teaching.” Her face clouded. “Assuming he really taught enough to develop those kinds of feelings.”

Bill laid his hand over hers. “He really was a teacher, Laura. It’s just that he was other things, too.”

She took a final bite of noodles and laid her fork down. “Do you want to keep going with the pictures, or talk about the…other things some more?” She watched him stare at the dwindling pile of photographs, his face somber.

“I want to keep going, but I don’t want to finish,” he said, giving her a rueful smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Does that make sense?”

“It does. I remember that feeling.” Watching his grief brought an echo of her own pain back stronger that she expected. She got up and began clearing the table as he put the photographs back in the box, the ones he hadn't yet looked at on top.

“Maybe I can look at the rest the next time I’m here.”

_The next time I’m here._

And what was that going to be like? And when? Next week? Next month?

She put the dishes in the sink and began filling it with water. One cozy dinner wasn't going to be enough to counteract her conflicted feelings about this day.

. .

********************************************************************* . .

“You’re awfully quiet. You still thinking about today?” His look was full of compassion, and she took some comfort in seeing that he seemed to understand her delayed shock.

“A little, yes.” She turned and leaned back into his arms as they settled into the overstuffed couch. The television flickered with images of weather patterns on each of the Helios Alpha worlds, a cheerful meteorologist pointing at squiggly lines and arrows on a galactic map.

“Does that kind of thing, suddenly getting raided like that...does it happen a lot?”

His silence held for a beat longer than she would have liked.

“I wouldn't say ‘a lot’.  We usually get more of a heads-up if something’s getting ready to happen.”

She turned in his arms, suddenly feeling restless as she imagined clandestine warnings and decisions made behind closed doors.

“I need to ask you something, Bill.” She pulled away enough so she could look into his eyes, searching for any signs of reticence. “And I need you to tell me the truth, even if you think it’ll be painful.”

His slight stiffening told her he was on his guard but his gaze never wavered.

“Laura, there are things I might not be able to tell you, but I won’t lie to you. I’m done with that. Go ahead and ask me whatever you need to.”

Now that he was ready to answer, her questions stuck in her throat, and she realized there were answers she might find unbearable. He seemed to have more confidence in her ability to hold herself together than she did, and she wondered what kind of strength he was seeing in her. She wished she trusted herself as much as he trusted her.

“The accident…my father and sisters…was that part of any of this?” Her voice sounded shaky to her ears.“Was it really an accident? Or was it something else?”

Waves of relief washed over her as she saw his clear blue eyes hold her gaze, steady and unflinching.

“It really was a drunk driver, Laura. Not an assassination, or a…covert op gone wrong, or anything like that. It was a horrible loss…a tragic, horrible loss, but it was looked into, and I know those were the findings.”

It stung that he had been privy to an investigation she had never even known was taking place. Someone had sifted through her father’s secret life, determining facts and drawing conclusions. Some… _team,_ some group of shadowy figures had gotten more closure than she had.

“I hate this, you know. I hate having all these suspicions. I feel like there’s no solid ground left.”

He nodded as she slowly leaned into his chest again. “I know. When I heard about the armistice delays, I thought I’d go crazy. I know there were days when your father wished he’d never told me about that.”

Lying with her cheek against his chest, she felt his heartbeat thudding harder as he talked. “What do you mean, ‘delays’?

His sigh seemed to come from the bottom of his soul. “You can’t ever…do anything with this, Laura. You might want to, but the price of knowing certain things is agreeing to carry some hard truths inside you for a long, long time.”

“That speech doesn't sound like you, Bill.”

“It’s not mine. It’s what your father told me once, before he told me the truths that changed everything.”

. .

******************************************** . .

He had thought he’d go crazy back then. If the war had ended two years earlier…he had tried to count the friends, the loved ones who would still be alive if the armistice had been agreed to at its inception.

_“The defense industry had just completed a massive spin-up in production, Bill. I bet the first Viper you flew was fresh from the factory, wasn't it?”_

_Bill remembered squadron after squadron of Vipers, paint practically still wet, delivered to the hangars that supplied his Battlestar._

_Remembered flying protective escort for cargo ships delivering massive crates of new weaponry to Battlestars in orbit._

_“I don’t know what was happening on their end…Cylon economics wasn’t my area. But on our end, when the Cylons offered the first armistice, there were a lot of influential people who stood to lose millions.”_

_“And the thousands who would die over the next two years? Did they think about them?”_

_“Oh, none of the heads of government and industry openly talked about the financial reasons. It was all about how hard it would be to get all twelve colonies to agree to the terms of an armistice. Meanwhile, of course, our brave fighting men and women would be supplied with the best weaponry money could buy. They ran the numbers. They said it was worth the risk.”_

He had walked out that night, unable to bear the thought of Jaycie and others like her reduced to a number on a spreadsheet.

He had returned to Mr. Roslin’s house a week later, full of furious justice and ready to hear the rest of the hidden history of his war. As badly as Mr. Roslin wanted to recruit him, it was clear he wanted Bill to understand what he would be getting into. There would be no place for crusades here, he’d said.

_“The price of knowing certain things is agreeing to carry some hard truths inside you for a long, long time.”_

He had felt two thousand souls watching as he agreed to pay that price.

. .

*************************************************************** . .

Tears streaked Laura’s face, catching the light of the television in the dim room. He wondered if she realized she’d been crying.  She hadn't moved since he began talking about her father’s words, but she had begun her silent weeping when he got to the part about Jaycie. Finally, she wiped her tears and got up, turning her back to him as she went to the window. It had started raining again, a thin drizzle that looked like it could go on all night. He got up to go stand behind her, watching her reflection in the window. Her green eyes looked black and hollow in the glass.

“So everything I thought I knew…it’s been a lie. Not just about my father. Everything about history, the Articles of Colonization, government…all lies. Even after we talked earlier, I kept hoping, I guess, that there would be some explanation that would make everything make sense.” She closed her eyes. “Something besides greed.”

He cupped her shoulders in his hands, breathing in the scent of her hair as he steadied himself. Going back to those days from so many years ago had rocked him more than he expected.

“So how did you keep quiet? Didn't you want to tell the worlds about this?”

He watched the line of her jaw as it stiffened and knew what she was feeling. He’d felt like that, too, once. Like if this profiteering was exposed, the colonies would howl for justice, demand retribution, and all the wrongs would be righted. It had seemed so clear-cut when he was young.

Finally, Mr. Roslin had arranged a meet with Bill and Sam Adama…and the photographs taken after Sam had been kidnapped and tortured years before the Cylon Rebellion. The bloody maw of his uncle’s toothless mouth spoke louder than words on the dangers of moving prematurely against power and wealth.

“Your father and my uncle convinced me how stupid it’d be to go off in blind reaction. But yeah, I wanted to. It took some time for me to wrap my head around the long-range plans.”

“The plans…they asked a lot from you, didn't they?” She turned in his arms then, and her eyes shone with sympathy.

He could feel his throat tighten. She was taking him to a place he couldn't afford to go to anymore.

“Your father wouldn't have come to me if he hadn't thought I could handle it, Laura. Like I wouldn't be telling you now, if I had doubts about your strength.”

She looked past his shoulder and he knew she was looking at the print of the Cylon War over the fireplace mantle.

“I can’t believe that might happen again.” She ran her fingers over his cheek, drawing a deep, steadying breath. “It helps, though, knowing that you’re part of trying to stop it.”

He wanted to leave it there with every fiber of his being; let her end the day thinking that he was part of the effort to prevent another war. That sounded, that _felt_ so clean and noble. The trust in her face, the half-smile of pride made it so tempting to brush past the whole truth.

Sighing, he reminded himself that a lie of omission was still a lie. She’d had enough omissions in her life. If it made her look at him with hopelessness, he’d still make himself take it. He’d seen that look enough, reflected back in his own mirror.

“Laura…I’m not part of the plans to prevent another war.”

She drew back, confusion in her eyes. “But I thought”—

He couldn’t do this while she was looking at him. He pulled her back into his arms, looking over her head at the failing rain against the night. Bringing his lips close to her ear, he stroked her hair as he readied himself to shatter her hopes.

“My part is to help arm the resistance, if… _when_ …the Colonies fall.”

He expected shock, disbelief at the pessimism in his words. It sounded to his own ears like he had already given up on the other efforts to prevent war. He wished then he’d shaded the truth, just talked about the efforts her father and his team had made to stack the deck of decision-makers in the Defense Department.  The veterans who had been educated and trained into weapons engineers, now placed in positions of authority in the most powerful military manufacturing companies in the Colonies.

Selfishly, he realized how much he wished his mission had let him look more heroic in her eyes.

When she pulled back this time, her expression was composed and business-like, with none of the disappointment he expected.

“So, you’re part of the contingency plan if the Cylons attack and we lose.”

He nodded as he thought how many weeks it had taken for him to accept that description from her father.

She took his hand and drew them both back to the couch. She sat there, back straight and holding his hand in both of hers.

“I think my father and his people made the right choice, Bill.” Her smile had that touch of pride again. _Pride in him._

She squeezed his hand.

“What can I do to help?”


	38. We've Got Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Let's make it last, let's find a way"

The room was starting to take on a slight chill and Laura couldn’t tell if it was from the rainy gloom outside the window, or the revelations that had seemed to come so quickly. Her words hung in the air between them. He covered her hand with his and sat there, rubbing his thumb over the fine veins under her skin as he held her gaze for longer than was comfortable.

She wondered if he was waiting for her to equivocate, if he was waiting for a “but” or an “as long as.” She held her gaze steady, and her heart melted when he finally relaxed into a warm smile that eased the tension she’d seen in the set of his jaw. He had been bracing himself for disappointment, she realized.

_He’s carried this with him, every time I’ve been with him, every time we’ve talked. It’s been me, him, and…this. All this._

Selfishly, she was deeply happy that the first part of their relationship had been untainted by deadly secrets. It was bad enough she now questioned so much of her childhood, so many things about her father. If she had to rearrange her memories of her first love…she turned her mind away from that unwelcome thought. She returned his smile with all the warmth (and a touch of the heat) that those memories called up in her.

Grinning now, he pulled her back into the depths of the overstuffed couch, letting go of her hands to slip one arm under her knees and pull her into his lap. She gave a surprised giggle as she lost her balance and half-fell, half-lay against him. Not that any of this was funny in the least…but the terror the future likely held was so new, it hadn’t quite gotten its teeth all the way into her yet. And being snuggled against Bill’s barrel chest, comfortably intertwined with his body as they talked, was a position that held sweet memories of hours spent in lazy conversation and gauzy “what ifs” for their future.

Conversations where “what if” didn’t conjure up images of death and terror.

“Tell me more.” She leaned back against the arm of the couch and tried to relax. He linked his fingers with hers again and rested their joined hands on her stomach as he took up his story again.

As Bill outlined the broad scope of his life’s work, telling her about creating strongholds and caches of supplies and weapons, she noticed that he left the details vague. She wasn’t sure if that was by design or if discretion had become second nature for him by now. She looked over at the print of the Cylon War again. The colors seemed more vivid tonight, the blades sharper, the expressions on the faces of the dying more anguished.

She wished for a second that she was a child again, being whisked out of harm’s way without knowing she was in danger. She wondered how her father had borne the knowledge that war was coming. Had he looked at maps and tried to calculate strike zones? After his infrequent visits, had each ‘goodbye’ been composed to last a lifetime, if it had to? No wonder she remembered her mother crying when they thought she was asleep. Her mother and father both had lived with the unbearable for years.

She wondered how she would bear that knowledge now.

“I can’t believe how much you’ve been able to get done while keeping under the radar.”

He looked away, staring through the window out into the dark. “Sometimes I feel like it’s all been about planning for failure. The best outcome…the outcome I hope for with everything I’ve got, is that my part of all this is never needed. If the other players accomplish what they’re trying to, what I’ve spent my life building will be useless, I guess.”

She mulled over his words as she lay in his arms, her legs stretched out on the couch and her head against his chest. She was half-sitting in his lap, the warmth from his body comforting her like a favorite blanket. She nestled against him, trying to give some of that comfort back.

“If I were those others, I think I’d have to know that somebody was working on a fail-safe plan. If I didn’t have that…I can see getting to a point where the stakes made everything too overwhelming.”

“One wrong move, and its game over? You’re right. A lot of people would just opt out...quit the game if it was set up like that,” he said.

She looked up at his rugged profile, shadows playing over his features. The harsh lines around his mouth seemed to have softened while she talked.

“If I was in charge, I think if there wasn’t someone like you working on a back-up plan, putting that in place would be my first move.”

He bent to kiss her forehead.

“If you were in charge, things probably wouldn’t have gotten to this point. I don’t—son of a _bitch!_ ”

She turned to follow his glare directed at the television. Dr. Gaius Baltar was on the screen, smirking at an anchorwoman on one of the news programs. She thumbed up the volume on the remote and wiggled into a comfortable position, her head resting on the couch's overstuffed arm. She felt the muscles in his thighs tighten under her lower back and sensed the anger there.

“What price safety, really? A strong defense remains critical to our Colonial way of life. And frankly, we’ve seen how little mere soldiers can do with conventional warfare up against the Cylons. It’s long past time to lift the old bans and use that kind of technology to our own benefit. Weapon delivery systems armed with Artificial Intelligence will be the only rational way to go up against the Cylons, or any other enemy force if we should ever be at war again.”

“Frakker hasn’t changed much. Hard to believe it’s been twenty years since the riots his anti-veteran bullshit sparked,” Bill grumbled.

She squinted and looked closer at the images on the screen. “I think he’s had work done. Look how tight his skin is around his eyes. Ugh…what an arrogant little peacock.”

The anchorwoman glanced at the cards in her hand. “Dr. Baltar, won’t this require a total redesign of military hardware? Do you have any figures on the costs involved in changing every military resource over to an artificial intelligence system?”

Laura thought she saw a faint sheen of sweat on the long-haired scientist’s forehead.

“Not at this time, no. But I have spoken at length with President Adar and his military advisors, and he’s assured me that money will be found in the budget to support the necessary upgrades. After all”—he turned to face the cameras, flashing what he probably thought was a charismatic smile—“what is at stake is nothing less than the safety of every man, woman and child in the Twelve Colonies. You can’t put a price tag on that.”

Bill grunted as Laura hit the “off” button. “I bet _somebody’s_ put a price tag on it.”

Laura watched the glow from the television fade, casting the room into darkness. Her sweater had ridden up as she’d shifted more fully onto her back and Bill’s hand was now resting on her bare stomach. They lay there for a few minutes, each with their own thoughts. With all the uncertainty whirling in her brain, his solid presence felt anchoring and safe. She would start making a mental list of things to check into as soon as she was back in her office. Tonight, though, she needed one last connection with him; something to get her through the next days, the next weeks.

His touch became firmer. She arched a bit under his hand wondered if she was serving as an anchor for him as well. Maybe they both needed to feel a human connection right now, something beyond plans and strategies.

She slowly brought one hand up to his chest and folded her other arm under her head, stretching as she made herself comfortable against his bulk. Smiling, she wiggled her fingers between the buttons on his shirt until her hand met warm, bare skin.

“I’m going to be doing a lot of thinking about all this when I’m back at work Monday.”

His hand slid upwards under her sweater. She could feel his belly twitch against her palm.

”It feels like you’re ready to think about something else for a while,” he said.

“It’ll all be waiting for us in the morning, Bill. I’ve got a couple of ideas…but I need to be at my computer to think about them properly.”

“Tomorrow, you’ll be back in Caprica City, won’t you?” Regret tinged his voice.

He had moved under her bra now, and she felt like a teenager again, necking on her parents’ couch, hoping they wouldn’t come home too soon.

“Hmm…and you’ll be back at work and…everything else.” She shifted in his lap to give him more room and felt his erection hard against her bottom.

“One more night, before we go back to being responsible,” he whispered, cupping her head in his hand as he brought his lips down to hers. His last button flew open under her fingers as she moved up into his kiss, her hand splayed wide on his broad chest. He eased out from under her and turned until they were lying on their sides, in that suspended place between intent and action.

It was the riverbank, it was the back seat, it was every embrace that started gentle and ended with their bodies hopelessly tangled together and searching for completion. He moved his thigh against her as she brought her leg over his hip, urging him closer. He traced the curves of her face with whisper-light lips, then reclaimed her mouth with a desperate groan. It felt like he was trying to give her thirty years of lost passion in one unending kiss.

She broke away, breathing hard. Running her hands under his open shirt, she gripped his muscular back and rolled until she was fully on her back, pulling him with her. One of his hands was at the snap of her pants, and her belly was already tightening in anticipation at his touch.

_One more night._

. .

*****************************

. .

He should have stopped this, suggested a break so they could move upstairs to her wide comfortable bed. He should have shaved again, should have showered off the grit that had ground into his exposed skin when he was face-down on the asphalt.

He raised up on one elbow. “Laura, do you want—“

“You. I just want you.” She rolled her hips against him and tightened her fingers on his shoulders.

He smiled as he gave up his “shoulds” and leaned into her again, lips moving across her skin, pausing over the rapid pulse he found in the hollow of her throat. He could feel her rich hum at its starting point, the sensation shooting right to his cock. He found himself grinding his hips against hers, her open zipper scratching him as he shifted to make room for his hand between her legs. At his touch, she arched enough to throw him off balance, his knee banging against her hip.

“Hang on,” he said, kissing her lightly as he pulled away. “Feels like I’m in a strait-jacket here.” Her hand skimmed the edges of his jeans shoved half-way down his hips, then moved to caress his ass.

“Mmm… you feel so good…” She ran her fingers under his jeans down to the crease between his hip and thigh, playing along his skin as he grew painfully hard against the confining fabric.

“I’ll feel better when we’ve both got our clothes off.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb before reluctantly sitting up, his body already missing her warmth as her hands fell away. In seconds they were on their feet, their clothes scattered over the coffee table. She was in his arms again, pulling at his hips until the length of him was between her thighs. She swayed back and forth as she kissed him again, mouth hungry and her tongue mimicking the movement of her pelvis as she built a delicious friction around him.

_If he could angle up a little_ …her slickness against the head of his cock was making his legs tremble. He couldn’t wait any longer, he had to be inside her this second, he could already feel her heat around him again as he readied himself…then he gasped as she suddenly moved out of his arms and stepped back, pushing down hard on his shoulders.

“Sit down a minute.” His eyes widened at the interruption but he sat down on the cool leather, waiting. Her lips were parted, her tongue darting out and running along her bottom lip. He watched her, fascinated and waiting for whatever would come next.

Laura’s eyes were half-closed, her cheeks flushed as she knelt between his wide-spread knees. Bill gripped his fists hard against his thighs as she brought her lips to his twitching cock, ready and wet with her juices. As she lowered her mouth, taking his length and the taste of herself against her tongue, he leaned his head back against the couch and groaned.

Lids half-closed, he watched her eyes, bright with heat as she savored the taste of them together. He gave over to sensation then, losing himself in the warmth of her mouth as he opened his hands and wound his fingers deep in her hair.

His breath became ragged and harsh as she played her tongue under the head, around and down his shaft, then up again. Her fingers stroked deep under his balls and he shuddered, bucking against her mouth. He was at the point when he knew he’d have to stop her, tell her that he couldn’t take any more, when he felt her grip him hard. She released him from her lips, giving him one final swipe of her tongue.

His hands shook as he let go of her hair and cupped her face.

“Thought you didn’t want to see me dead,” he said, smiling weakly as he tried to get his breathing under control.

Her hair was a dark red nimbus around her face, glowing dark against her pale skin as a flash of lightning illuminated the dark room.

“I said I didn’t want to see you _shot._ ”

Her voice was husky with need as she placed one knee on the couch by his hip and waited, open and ready. As his broad hands circled her waist in invitation, she moved fully into his lap, teasing herself with the tip of his cock sliding along her folds until he growled and pulled her down hard over him. Her head fell against his shoulder as she gasped against him, her inner muscles working in a maddening rhythm.

He turned her face towards his for a lingering kiss, his hand moving down until his knuckles were against her clit. Laura groaned against his mouth before burying her face into the hollow of his neck, her breath hot on his skin.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see her hands digging into the back of the couch, her elbows locked as she raised and lowered herself against his thrusting hips. He ran a hand up over her breasts, pinching lightly at the darker skin at the tip before drawing his palm down her side. She released her grip on the couch and circled his neck, raking the nails of her other hand down his chest, brushing aside his old dog tags and lightly scratching his nipples.

At the next flash of lightning, he watched as she threw her head back, the muscles along her neck corded with strain as she ground herself against him, one hand hard against his chest.

“That’s it…c’mon, Laura…come for me….” Her body jerked like a loosed arrow, her eyes closed and teeth clenched. Her steadying hand shook and gripped against his shoulder, then he hugged her close, hands flat against her back.

She held on tight as he bucked hard into her shaking body, his own orgasm blazing through him like a final bolt of lightning crackling through the sky. His ecstatic cries mixed with the thunder, both fading as he slumped against her, exhausted and spent.

As they uncoupled and stretched out, murmuring sleepy love-talk, he pulled a folded blanket over them.

“We should get up.” He spoke without opening his eyes.

“Um-hm,” she agreed, curling back against him.

“The bed’s gonna be a lot more comfortable.”

“You’re right.” Her breath tickled his arm as she spoke.

“Just…I need a minute.” He rested his cheek against her smooth back.

“Take all the time you need,” she whispered, her voice trailing away as she dropped into a light doze.

He kissed her shoulder, listening to the rain brush against the window as he let himself drift off, lulled by the beat of her heart that echoed his own.

. .

*************************** . .

The smell of eggs frying in butter still hung in the air as Laura zipped up her overnight bag and put it by the door. She arched her back in a luxurious stretch that unwound the last of the kinks from spending half the night on the couch, before they had come to their senses and gone upstairs.

“I wish you could stay.” His voice was a soft growl by her ear as he hugged her from behind.

“Me, too.” She turned and kissed his neck, rough with morning stubble. “Are you going to be okay?”

He pulled her into a tight embrace, his eyes closed against the morning sun shining through the open door. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’m gonna go by the cemetery, check on…everything, then head on home. Think I’m ready to face the house now.” He nodded at the box sitting by her overnight bag. “I’d like to show those to Lee. Maybe Kara’d like to see them, too.”

“I’d love to see Lee again.”

She smiled at her memory of the bright, stoic boy who had grown to be the man she had seen standing with his father. An unexpected stiffening in his arms took her by surprise.

“Bill? What’s wrong?”

His arms dropped away. “Sorry, Laura. It just hit me…you going back to your life, me going back to mine.” His eyes filled with anxiety. “You had it right, what you said on the phone before the funeral. You can’t be seen with me…with us.”

She wrapped a hand around his bicep, over where she knew he had inked her symbol into his skin. “I have an excuse to come here, Bill. It’s my house, after all. Lots of government officials have a house out in the country and a condo in the capitol. We can be discreet…unless there’s more to it than that.”

She searched his face, looking for answers.

“Is that it? Is it a problem on your end, that I work for the government?”

His averted eyes told her she had guessed right.

“Sort of,” he sighed. “I could get my club to accept it, I think. Lee, Saul, the rest of the officers know something about you. But the others…the other clubs…we’re still building relationships with the ones off Caprica.”

He straightened and she got a glimpse of the soldier he had been once. “Soon, I hope, things’ll be solid enough for the other clubs to trust my vouching for you.”

“But not yet.” Her lips pressed into a narrow line. She couldn’t blame them, not really. She’d been part of enough coalitions and union alliances to understand the delicacy of his position. A misstep, a sudden mistrust of who and what Bill was, and he, along with the future resistance, could lose access to an entire planet’s worth of resources.

But a part of her (the eighteen year old part, she thought wryly) wished, right then, that he would say it would be worth it, to be with her.

“I understand, Bill. I get what’s on the line, here.” She made herself smile as she reached up to nuzzle against his cheek. “We’ll work something out. I can’t believe, after all this, that we’re not meant to end up together. I will _not_ believe this is hopeless.”

“I know what you mean. I can’t quite see how it’s going to work”—he broke off as he kissed the corner of her mouth with a gentleness that disappeared when he moved to her lips with a long, slow claiming. This was a reminder of last night, a final show of passion that left her breathless when he finally pulled back, dark blue eyes glittering with resolve. “But we’ll find a way. I know that like I know who I am.”

“Here,” he said, reaching in his pocket. He pulled out a small phone, like the one he’d handed her last night to make the call to his friend. “It’s another burner phone. If you need me, anytime, for anything, call me on this.”

She nodded as she slipped it into her purse. “I’ll keep it charged. And you know you can use the house if you need to. The safe, too. Whatever I can do, Bill. I mean that.”

“You’re amazing, Laura. Your faith in me, in us…I’d hoped for this so many times. After your father died and we had our misunderstanding, I never did really give up hope…I just quit trying then.”

“Just goes to show you, Bill, never give up hope.”

“Same goes for you, Laura.”

One last kiss, one last penetrating look into her eyes, and he strode out to his bike, kick-starting it and turning a sharp right out on to the road as she softly closed the door behind him. Without him even telling her, she waited a full fifteen minutes before going to her city sedan, then pulled out of her father’s driveway in the opposite direction from the one he’d taken.

She could learn how to handle all this.

She’d have to.


	39. Fishing Expedition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know, Laura, if you’d wanted to get away for a couple of days, you could have called me."

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

 

“You’re in early.” Richard’s tone was casual as he leaned in her doorway.

Laura glanced up as she clicked the on-screen tabs closed. “Making up for the time I lost Friday…with my migraine.”

He sauntered into her office, closing the door behind him. “You feeling better? You look like you are.”

“I’m fine, Richard, but I’m really busy.”

He sat down in one of her side chairs and crossed his legs, making himself comfortable. “What’re you working on? Maybe I can send some assistance your way.”

She stole a glance at her monitor. Nothing too incriminating there. Yet.

“Projected special education resource needs for next year. It’d take longer than it’d be worth to tell someone else how to compile it the way I want it.”

“Well, suit yourself. I wouldn’t spend too much time on it, though. Whatever you come up with, it’ll still have to be covered with what’s left after the cuts.”

“Understood, Mr. President.” She turned back to her computer and hoped he’d take the hint.

Adar rose and walked to her window, moving behind her as she typed. Her shoulders hunched and she realized she didn’t want him behind her. Sighing, she pulled up her screen saver and pulled out a handful of folders from the pile on her desk.

“If there’s nothing else….”

“Sorry, Laura. Just admiring the view.”

She looked over her shoulder. He was staring out at the cityscape below, hands in his pockets.

“You’ve got a better view in your office, Richard.”

“In some ways, maybe.” He turned and leaned against the window sill. His gaze seemed fixed on her neck.

“Have I seen that scarf before? It’s very becoming on you.” He reached out to touch the edge of the butterfly-printed scarf, raising his eyebrow when she pulled back.

“People are starting to come in to work. I really don’t want my secretary to pop in and see you playing with my neck.”    
  
He gave her an unbecoming smirk that made her want to slap him, her eyes widening at that realization.

“So, where’d the scarf come from? Did you find some shopping time over the weekend?”

She closed the folder she had opened and set her pen down with a sharp click. He was fishing for something. Her stomach clenched as she kept her expression carefully neutral, letting a pinch of annoyance creep in.

When had his concern changed into this intrusive attitude? Things hadn’t been really “right” between them for some time, but she’d thought she was doing a decent job of covering her feelings, going through the motions to avoid any awkward changes in her life.  
  
Until this weekend.

Stupid of her, in hindsight. Changes were coming whether she liked it or not. She clung to the hope that putting up with this sad little charade would buy her--and Bill--more time. More time for him to work on his lifetime of planning. More time for her to formulate a new plan of her own.

“I’ve had this scarf for years, Richard. I was going through some clothes at my parents’ and I came across it. If you’ve got a thing about butterflies I won’t wear it again.”

“No, not at all…your parents’ place? I thought you were knocked out with your migraine.”

“I was, for a day and a half. Then I felt like getting out of the city for a while. And I knew I had things there that I needed to do."

He stepped closer and placed his hand on her shoulder. She was suddenly conscious of the inch of cleavage she was showing below the scarf.

“You know, Laura, if you’d wanted to get away for a couple of days, you could have called me. No one was using the lake house this weekend. I could have even slipped away to join you for a few hours.”

Her growing anger was overtaking her caution. She rolled her chair back and stood in front of him.

“I couldn’t have done what I needed to do at the lake house. It’s not always about getting away and having a good time...although it was kind of nice to go shopping at the neighborhood market again,  cook in my mother’s kitchen….” Her voice softened for a second, then regained its cool tone.

“I have a life of my own, you know. I have my own responsibilities.”

His grip on her shoulder tightened. “I thought I was part of your life, Laura. I thought you felt some responsibility towards us. You don’t have any family…hell, you don’t even have a pet. So when you disappear from the city for three days and I don’t hear from you…I have to wonder what that’s about.”

She bristled even as a wave of unease swept over her. “What was I supposed to do, Richard? Call and hope like hell your wife wouldn’t see my number pop up? Interrupt your family time just so I could say ‘Hi’?”

He frowned and started to respond when her secretary buzzed her desk phone. “Madam Secretary? President Adar’s chief of staff called. Are you still meeting?”

“We were just finishing up,” Laura said as she clicked off the connection.

“Let’s just focus on the day’s work, all right? I’ve got a lot to do, and I know you do, too.” She gave him a smile that she hoped would be conciliatory enough to allay his apparent suspicions as she walked to the door.

“Sure, Laura. We’ll talk later.” Richard’s shoulders slumped a bit as he seemed to accept her dismissal. He touched her scarf-covered neck again, then lightly brushed against her breast as he dropped his hand. “I’m happy you had the kind of weekend you feel like you needed.” He leaned in to kiss her cheek. “And I’m even happier you’re back.” Caressing her hip as he walked past her, he pulled the door open with a touch more force than was necessary, and finally left her office.

She leaned against the door and fought the wave of nausea that rose in her throat.  She’d been right. Things hadn’t only changed in the old neighborhood, in her relationship with Bill.

Something had changed here, too. And nobody was standing by to help explain it like Bill had done. Against all reason, at the moment, she wanted nothing more than for him to be there in front of her, arms open and telling her everything would be all right. Telling her they’d figure it out together.

She went to the gilt-edged mirror over her bookcase and, after a glance at the closed door, moved her scarf to one side. She ran her fingers over the scattered reddish-purple marks standing in stark contrast against her pale skin. She wasn’t sure why, but just touching each one was calming.

Whatever else happened today, or this week, in this office…she had this. She had Bill. She had their weekend together and the new bonds they’d formed through their grief and their sharing of old secrets.

She could deal with Richard. She didn’t have to like it--she just had to take care of the problem he seemed determined to pose. So far, it felt like he was just being possessive of her attention and dismissive of her professional concerns. The dismissive part, she should be able to turn to her advantage.

The possessiveness might be tougher to manage, but she thought she knew his weak spots well enough to push him away. Especially when there seemed to be a younger, easier candidate for his attentions close at hand.

Checking that her door was locked, she went back to her desk and dug down in her purse. She pulled out the encrypted Wi-Fi hot spot she’d bought on the way back to the city and pushed the ‘on’ button until the yellow light turned green. Another few keystrokes and her research queries would bypass the government servers.

As she had told Richard, she had a lot of work to do.

.

.

**********************************

.

\

“So, what’d you find out?” Richard glared at the phone as if the agent on the other end could see him.

“We had the cemetery and church under surveillance before, during, and after the service. No signs of Rabbit, sir. We did two drive-bys at her father’s residence and didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Looks like she garaged her car when she arrived and didn’t leave until she came back to Caprica City.”

“Is that so? According to her, she left long enough to go shopping at least once.”

There was silence on the line, then the agent spoke again. ”Sir, if you recall, we discussed longer and more thorough surveillance, but you said you didn’t feel it was necessary.”

He rubbed the corners of his eyes. Maybe he’d made a mistake about that. Something had her in a mood today. A mood that didn’t have room for him.

“Sir, I did see another report come through, flagged as an ‘Adama’ report.”

His hand tightened on the phone. “Go on.”

“There was a raid on Adama Automotive over the weekend. The CBW did a sweep for illegal guns and contraband. Nothing turned up, but their report did put Bill Adama at his shop at the time of the raid. No signs reported of any females matching Rabbit’s description.”

He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until the agent stopped talking. “Good, that’s good to hear.”

“Sir? Any projected time frame for when you want a security detail assigned to…‘Tortoise’?

“I’ll let you know.”

He hung up, wondering if he’d made a mistake about having Laura watched. He should have either left her alone, or had them do the job right. All he had at this point were gut feelings and nagging suspicions.

He shrugged. Maybe going through her dead family’s things had brought up old grief and past regrets. And thinking about that Adama boy being buried couldn’t have helped. He reached for his desk phone and punched his secretary’s extension.

“Yeah, order a dozen roses…red, pink, whatever they’ve got in stock, and have them sent to Secretary Roslin. Um…the card should read ‘Here’s to better times’ and have them sign my name.”

Innocent enough, and a dozen roses should excuse any boorish behavior he might have exhibited earlier. They’d been through a lot together, and he wasn’t ready to throw that away yet.

_At least not until he had a better idea of how this thing with his new assistant would go._

He put thoughts of both women out of his mind as he turned to the day’s reports. The protests were starting to roll in. He hoped the Defense Department and Dr. Baltar appreciated what he’d done.

.

.

 *********************************

.

.

Laura glanced up at her wall clock to check the time and to give her eyes a break from the screen. She was surprised to see it was half past six already. She unplugged the Wi-Fi and started packing up her laptop. She’d gotten most of what she needed…enough to make a good start, anyway.

Her lips turned up in a bitter smile. At least she had the comfort of knowing that hers wasn’t the only department getting their budget slashed. Health and Human Services, Veterans Affairs, Food and Drug Safety, Environmental Protection…all were being hit with severe cuts.

Every department except Defense. She hadn’t been able to find out anything about their departmental budget, which was unusual enough by itself, but she suspected when she did, she’d find it had been increased by at least twenty-five percent. Maybe more.

She looked up at the framed picture near her window, her and Adar shaking hands at his inauguration. Once, she’d almost been afraid to display it, afraid that their secrets, the way they looked at each other, would leap out of the frame.

Now, it just looked like a handshake between her and a politician in a suit, some guy she used to know. It was sad, really. His father had been in the war, had been a patriot. She’d always thought Richard was a patriot, too.

Maybe she could point out the risks in putting all the defense eggs in the Baltar basket. He still wanted her…his touches, his glances that held a hint of a leer told her that. She owed it to… _some_ body—Bill, her father’s memory, humanity, as far as that went—to try and get him to pull back on this build-up. To think again before starting something they might not be able to finish.

The next time he wanted to meet with her privately, she’d agree. If Bill could handle what his life threw at him, she could handle an hour alone with Richard.

 


	40. Special Delivery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Summary: With each of them consumed with their missions, Bill finds time to let Laura know she's in his thoughts, using an unlikely messenger._
> 
>  
> 
> .  
> "You really don’t know much about all this, do you?"
> 
>  
> 
> ************************************************************************************

 

 

 

Laura looked up from the monitor, eyes feeling like they’d been sand-blasted. Her vision blurred for a second as she blinked rapidly a few times, trying to coax some moisture back into her eyes. The room came back into focus. She looked out her picture window at the night sky, bright with stars. Looking into the distance felt good after the hours of close work she’d put in…that she’d been putting in for weeks now.

She closed her eyes and opened them to the stars again. The lights of the air-shipping lanes blinked and flashed, and as she watched the black hulks of ships depart and arrive over the airfield, she wondered when one would bring Bill back to Caprica.

There was something ominous tonight about how the stars were blocked out by the ships, creating empty black spaces until they passed by. She found herself wondering what an enemy fleet would look like. Would they silently block out the sky with their numbers, or would they light it up with explosions and missiles?

She wished Bill was back, standing by the window, looking out at the world and telling her things would be okay. She rubbed her eyes for a second, then sent the latest analysis to the printer. One more set, and she’d have another packet of hard data to pass along. Some facts and figures would go into her formal protest over the upcoming budget cuts on the “soft” departments, as Richard had begun calling almost everything but the Defense Department when they talked privately.

Most would go to a reporter she’d found through Bill’s web of contacts. Another week of research and analysis, two at the most, and Laura thought there would be enough to paint the picture Bill had sketched out for her.

She looked one last time at the panorama of city lights and faint stars, then stretched, arms high over her head. She slowly moved her hips in a figure eight, coaxing her knotted back to unlock. She smiled at her reflection in the dark glass. On a whim, she tucked her sweater up under her breasts, leaving her stomach bare.

Clearing her mind, she let her body remember the moves she’d learned in a long-ago belly dancing class. She extended one leg and began the subtle shifts of weight from one foot to another, turning in a slow circle as her hips swung in a controlled arc. Within minutes, all her joints felt a little more fluid that they had when she’d gotten up from her chair.

When she had some free time, she’d have to see if she could find that CD of Leonan reed music. One day, when all this was over, maybe she could take up dancing again, maybe even entice Bill to learn some of the complementary moves. She clung tight to the fantasy of peace and personal time for a few more seconds, then sighed as she tugged her sweater back down and went to take the latest piece of the data puzzle off the printer. It would be enough to get her through another night of not hearing from him.

.  
.  
#################################  
  
.

 

Bill finally gave up trying to catch up on his sleep. The Series 2 Firefly was fast enough, but it rattled and rolled like a tin can being kicked down an alley. It didn’t help that the harried-looking co-pilot was on his third trip to the engine room, either. No wonder this relic was out of production…but the speed had been nice, cutting his trip to Canceron down to a little over three weeks instead of a full four.

He wiggled in his seat, trying to get comfortable. The springs in the bottom felt like they’d been sprung out a long time ago. If he ever got the chance to take Laura on an off-world trip, he’d spend the extra cubits for passage on a decent cruiser. Something with real passenger rooms and some working stabilizers, for a change.

If he were taking her to, say, Scorpia, for a week at one of their resorts, he wouldn’t care if it took a little longer to get there. Not if she was with him, curled up next to him as they watched the galaxy float by from a luxury porthole, maybe some soft music playing in the background….

He shifted his battered duffle bag over his lap to cover the effect thoughts of Laura were having on him. Stupid, anyway…they were never going to travel like that. They were never going to take a vacation ( _or a honeymoon_ , a small mocking voice in his head whispered). His trips would continue to be clandestine and rough, making his way through meetings with outlaw clubs and grizzled veterans.

And those trips would be made on fast and dirty transports like this one, with smudged windows and grubby passengers who avoided eye contact.

The blue and white of Caprica slowly came into view. Seeing it from here made it harder to wait these last hours of flight. It was all he could do to keep from pressing his forehead against the glass, trying to mark their progress as the ship moved closer. He had business he had to attend to before he could get a few hours free, but just being on the same planet would feel like they were… _possible_ again.

He could work with that, feeling like they had a chance at a life together. He didn’t have to flesh out the details now. The mental picture of them together, all this subterfuge and danger behind them…it would do. It would let him relax for now, maybe even help him catch a catnap before they landed.

He folded his arm against the cold glass and propped his head on his fist. Images of a bikini-clad Laura, laughing with him on a tropical beach, came into his mind. He finally had a smile on his face—the first one he’d had in weeks—as he drifted into a light sleep.

.  
.  
###########################

  
.

Laura was the picture of studiousness as she curled up on her couch, bare feet pulled up under her, threadbare jeans hugging her curves and showing skin through the worn spots. A loose cream sweater, marred by a few old ink stains, hung off one exposed shoulder. She’d done a lot of academic research in this outfit. She hoped it would bring her the same luck now as she dove into reports from a myriad of sources, sifting through them for patterns. Pens were scattered on the table in front of her, two stuck in the thick twirl of hair at the back of her head and immediately forgotten.

The unfamiliar ring startled her, drawing her attention away from her reports as she tried to figure out where the noise was coming from. Her heartbeat quickened as she recognized it: the burner phone Bill had given her. She fished it out of her handbag and flipped it open, hoping she’d gotten it in time _. It had been weeks…._

“Hi,” she breathed into the phone, waiting for that deep easy rumble.

“Hey. I need you to buzz your doorman, tell him you’re expecting a delivery.”

Laura held the phone out, staring at the “BLOCKED NUMBER” message as she tried to process what the woman—young, by the sound of her—had said.

“Who is this?” she asked, tamping down her disappointment.

“A friend of a friend. A real old friend of yours.” The voice sounded impatient, a touch of “annoyed” around the edges of her words.

It was the type of call that seemed natural to get on an untraceable phone, she supposed.

“What’s the delivery going to be?”

A hint of amusement broke through the annoyance. “Flowers. I didn’t get much notice for this.”

“I’m buzzing him now. But I’m going to need some ID before I open my door. Just so you know.”  
  
“Understood.” The phone clicked off.

Laura hit the comm by the door and cleared the delivery with the doorman. She chased her rising anxiety away by focusing on the light tone of the caller at the end of their short conversation. If Bill had been hurt or in trouble, she doubted whoever came to tell her would be so casual about it.

Moving quickly, she scooped up the papers she’d been working on and the two flash drives next to them. The top to the ottoman popped up with a touch to the hidden catch. She added the papers in her hand to the growing pile inside, then shut it with a soft “click.” She was back at the door, looking through the peephole when she heard the thud of boots coming down the hall.

_It’s that girl._

The young woman walking down the hall with a bouquet of flowers was the same one who’d stood next to Bill at Zak’s funeral. She watched as the girl dug in her pocket for a battered driver’s license. She held it up to the peephole, her expression almost as sullen as the one on the photo ID. _Kara Thrace._  As Laura unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door, she got the feeling Kara Thrace didn’t care much for being sent on her current errand.

“Please, come in.” Her anxiety returned at the young woman’s demeanor. “Is anything wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, nobody’s hurt or in jail. I’m just here to give you some information.” Kara shut the door behind her and held out the flowers. “You want to put these in something or do you want me to dump them?”

Laura looked doubtfully at the mix of inexpensive flowers and greenery. “Are they from—“

“They’re from a bodega three blocks down. I needed something to deliver and they were handy and cheap.” She shrugged her shoulder under her brown leather jacket.

Laura took the flowers and nodded towards the kitchen. “I’ll put them in some water. Can I get you anything?”

“Wouldn’t say no to a beer, if you have any.” Kara stuck her hands in her jeans pockets and looked around the apartment, open curiosity on her face.

Laura felt her cheeks start to warm. She hadn’t thought this through when she had been at the grocery store last week, the bottles in the cooler reminding her of him. How it would look….

“I’ve got some Old Tauron lager,” she said, trying to sound casual. The six-pack decorated with brown and black bulls looked out of place next to the bottles of Sauvignon Blanc.

“I bet you do,” Kara smirked, raising an eyebrow. She finally gave Laura a real smile. “That’ll be fine. I’ve gotten used to it since I started hanging around the Adamas.”

Laura handed her an icy bottle and, after a moment’s deliberation, pulled out the wine bottle and poured a glass for herself.

“So, Kara, tell me why you're here.” she said, settling herself on the barstool.

Kara nodded and sat as well, taking a healthy gulp of beer as she leaned her arm on the bar. “The old man is back on Caprica, he wanted me to tell you. Had to go right back out, barely had time to shit, shower and shave before he headed for a meet in Delphi.”

A pang of disappointment ran through Laura. She assumed he would have called her as soon as he got back, even if it was just for a few minutes. She sipped at her wine, eyes averted from this girl half her age. Embarrassment at her expectations made her feel like she was in high school again. Of course he was busy. Of course talking to her would take second place to his mission….

Her concern must have been evident in her face. Kara’s expression softened slightly. “He would’ve called as soon as he landed, but when he got in, it was still during your workday. He didn’t want to call when he didn’t know who might be around you.”

Laura’s brow cleared a little. _That made sense._  She thought of being near Richard and them both hearing an unfamiliar ring coming from her handbag. And her pulling out a cheap phone, then excusing herself…or resolutely ignoring it, leaving more questions hanging in the air. Her throat tightened. Things were awkward enough with Richard already.

“Of course. I wasn’t thinking.” Some of the tension left her shoulders. Bill knew what he was doing. This was his world, and she was still the rook here, even if she was acclimating faster than she’d expected.

“He’s had two or three of his team at his ear since he got off the transport. He’s going to call as soon as he can, but I think he wanted to get a little free time and some privacy first.” The smirk was back as Kara lifted her bottle to her mouth again and took a long swallow.

“Mainly,” she continued, “he wanted somebody to put eyes on you, make sure you were okay, see if you needed anything.”

Laura nodded. “I’m fine. I’m making headway on what we discussed.” She thought for a minute. “And I look forward to seeing him again.” Her words sounded stilted to her ears, but she’d make up for it when she talked directly to him. She didn’t think his messenger would welcome any more personal sentiments.

Laura looked at the young woman in front of her. “I'm guessing he thought you were the member least likely to look out of place, coming up here.”

The choppy blond hair, jeans, boots and brown leather jacket gave Kara a Bohemian look not too terribly out of place in the upscale neighborhood. She was surprised at the bitter look that washed over Kara’s face.

“I’m not a _member_ , Ms. Roslin. I’m a chick, in case you didn’t notice.” She drank again, wiping her mouth afterwards with the back of her hand. “No dick, no membership. You really don’t know much about all this, do you?”

“No, I guess I don’t. I assumed…I saw you at the funeral, with Bill. I thought you were part of the club.”

Kara shook her head. “I would’ve been Zak’s old lady, if he hadn’t gotten killed. Now, I’m something between that, and a friend of the club.” There were shards of deep pain in those brown eyes. Laura wondered if, on top of grief, Kara saw her place in the world spin off-balance with Zak’s death.

“I guess I’m a friend of the club, too,” she mused out loud.

“For now, yeah.” Kara stared into the depths of her bottle for a few seconds, then a slow smile began. “Although from what I hear, your status might be subject to change.”

“What do you mean?” Laura tried to keep the curiosity out of her voice but suspected she was failing, if the grin showing in Kara’s eyes was anything to go by.

“Oh, just that some of the old-timers, Tigh and them, were ragging on the old man looking the way he did when he got back from staying at your place.”

“Oh, really?” Laura propped her chin on her hand and leaned forward, intrigued in spite of the awkwardness. “What’d they say?”

She was surprised to see Kara’s face show a hint of color as her eyes slid away from Laura’s.  
  
“Let’s just say the consensus was he hadn’t looked that happy about a chick since the last time you two hooked up. And the word ‘whipped’ might have been used a time or two.”

Kara glanced into the living room, eyes falling on the picture of Bill and the boys on the bookshelf. “Lee shut that shit down, though. Said you’d been a friend of the club for more years that you probably even knew yourself.”

Laura had a flash of memory, two boys and a man at a weathered picnic table. Another flash and a stone-faced man was walking out of a chain-link gate, shame in his posture as he got into her car. She felt the ghost of lips over her knuckles before a hurried departure that left her alone at a restaurant table.

“I guess he’s right.” Apparently Bill hadn’t shared the scene in her father’s house, or the years she had written Bill off as a mistake of her younger days.

“That’s them, isn’t it?” Kara tossed her empty bottle into the trash and walked into the living room, stopping in front of the picture.

Coming up beside her, Laura picked up the picture and handed it to Kara so she could take a closer look. “Yes, the Adama boys. That was a good day for them, in spite of everything.” Laura had kept the razor-wire fence out of the shot, but Bill’s clothes had the unmistakable look of prison clothes down to the number stenciled on the front shirt pocket.

“Gods, Zak was so young then.” Kara traced her finger over Zak’s smiling face.

“You know, Kara…I’ve got some other pictures of Zak at my dad’s house. If you’d like to come by and go through them—“

Kara put the frame back down.

“I know what he looked like, Ms. Roslin. I don’t….” She sighed. “Maybe sometime. That kind of thing, it’s not really me, you know? I’m not much for looking back.” She touched the repaired Viper model on the shelf and smiled wistfully before stepping away, hands back in her pockets again.

“I gotta go. I’ve probably been here too long for a frakking flower delivery already. You got a back way out of this place?”  
  
The seriousness of her involvement with Bill and his world hit her again. She hadn’t thought at all about the length of time Kara had been in her apartment, too long for the delivery cover.

“There’s an unmanned parking deck exit downstairs, at the back of the building. I’ll walk you down.”

Kara nodded. They walked down to the exit in silence, neither speaking until the door was opened to the shadowy parking deck.

“Call the club if you need anything. He’ll be back in a few days.”

“Thank you, Kara.” She watched as Kara disappeared down the ramp, then softly shut the door behind her.

.  
.  
####################################

.  
.

The man in the dark sedan checked his watch again, then made a few notes on the pad in his hand. _twenty-five minutes for a flower delivery_. He added a question mark after “delivery.” He watched the slim blonde come out of the parking deck and walk down the sidewalk, turning the corner and disappearing from his sight.

He looked up through his tinted window and saw the lights go on in what he knew to be Rabbit’s bedroom. She was alone again.

As usual.

The coffee in its Styrofoam cup was lukewarm and bitter. He drank it anyway. The day was coming, he suspected, when he’d be pulled off “Rabbit” for good. He’d been doing security detail long enough to know the signs of someone on their way out, personally and professionally.

Hell, Adar might not even know it himself yet, but the signs were there. He might still care for Madam Secretary, might even still feel possessive towards her, but his time and attention were turning more and more to the younger “Tortoise.”

Rabbit had always been a pretty easy assignment, and she’d never gone out of her way to make things hard on him, like some others had done. She always seemed nice enough, reminded him of a teacher his kid had years ago. And his job was to keep her safe, no matter what Adar thought it was.

He looked down at his pad, then carefully ripped out the sheet he’d been writing on, tearing it into tiny pieces and submerging them in the stale coffee. Picking up his pen again, he wrote “ _five minutes-flower delivery_ ” in neat block letters.

 _Frak Adar._  If twenty-five minutes with a stranger gave Rabbit a break in her increasingly lonely routine, who was he to throw a spanner in the works? As the bedroom light high overhead went dark, he pulled away from the curb, the documentation of another ordinary night neatly entered in the notepad beside him.


	41. Running Cold, Running Hot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Summary: Laura begins cooling down old connections while she finds new ways to heat up the connection between her and Bill._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> .  
> “I have a confession to make,” he said quietly."
> 
>  
> 
> ******************************************************************************

His kiss had felt the same as it always had; soft, warm, not anything demanding. She realized there was no passion present, and wondered if this was new, or if it had always been so tepid between them. His whispered words of wanting her sounded generic to her ears, like something he’d scripted and run by a focus group.

Richard was doing everything that had always worked before, even the times when she hadn’t really been in the mood. Today, though, he might as well have been trying to touch her through glass. The faint brush of fingertips whispered over her skin again, just at the edge of her underwear…and she was edging away before she realized what she was doing.

Richard pulled his hand from under her skirt and sat upright, searching her face, eyebrows drawn together. “You’re really not up for this today, are you?”

She pulled her skirt down. She had lost count of how many suggestive invitations she’d put off lately to meet in his private office, but it was at least three, maybe four. In all of her recent analyses, she’d been keying in on patterns as they revealed themselves: how delegates voted relative to attending off-world meetings, budget allocations and special requests. She’d realized this afternoon that she was creating a pattern of her own.

She’d thought she could handle it. Thirty minutes at the most, to break a connection between Zak Adama’s funeral and her leaving the city, and the cessation of her physical relationship with Richard. It had seemed worth it an hour ago. It was nothing she hadn’t done before. She hadn’t anticipated this numbness.

She met his eyes with as steady a gaze as she could manage. “I’m sorry, Richard. I don’t know what’s going on with me today. Everything just feels…off.”

He put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. The concern that flashed across his face hurt for a second, then she carefully converted what she saw into a data point. _Concern…that was good. That was better than suspicion._

“I’m worried about you, Laura. You’ve been working too hard for weeks now. Maybe…I’ve got a conference coming up on Picon in two weeks. I could work out some justification for you to come with me. Maybe getting you out of the office for a few days would help.”

He leaned against the back of the loveseat and pulled her against his chest, absently patting her back. He felt thin and insubstantial under her cheek. His years of working behind a desk were showing more and more as he got older.

_Older…_

“It’s not the work hours, I don’t think. I saw my doctor last week. He said I’d have to expect some changes with my hormone levels dropping. You know, changes in…libido, in being ready….”

She felt him stiffen as he took his hand from her back.

“Hon, is this a menopause thing?”

_Gods, she hated it when he called her that…hated the false intimacy of it._

She pulled back to meet his eyes again. “Well, yes, I suppose. I didn’t think it would be a big surprise.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m going through this already at home, the mood swings and everything. I don’t know if I can deal with this here, too.” He stood up, tucking his shirt back into his pants. “Can’t your doctor give you something?”

Her satisfaction at her bluff was marred by the sting of his dismissal. Years of being together, working together…it didn’t count for much, not enough for him to show her some understanding as she went through a natural process. She felt a pang of sympathy for his wife.

“He didn’t want to start hormone replacement therapy, with my family history. I can try some herbal supplements, but it’s going to take some time to see any results.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry if I sounded like a jerk, hon. As long as we’ve been together, you deserve better.” He flashed her the humble smile she’d watched him perfect in his last campaign. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Taking her by the hand, he pulled her up from the loveseat and into a loose hug. “Give your herbs a try, and when you feel ready, it’s okay if you need to bring some lubricant. I’ll understand.”

His compassionate smile almost looked genuine, but his eyes said he was already thinking about other things.

Laura’s stomach clenched as she forced a rueful smile in return and an appreciative “Thanks, Richard.”

She disentangled herself from his loose hold, gave him a quick peck on the cheek and had turned to go when he reached out and took her arm. His smile dimmed as he gave her an appraising look.

You know, your symptoms sure seemed to come on faster than I would have expected. Are you sure that’s all that’s wrong?”

“What else would it be?” she said carefully.

“Well, we’ve been at odds professionally lately. I’d hate to think my political decisions are affecting you physically.”

_Sweet Aphrodite…the ego of the man!_

“That’s ridiculous. Different women just react differently, that’s all. I would have thought you’d had enough experience with women to know that.” She paused at the doorway into his public office. “I’ll be fine, trust me.” She gave him another artificial smile and left, not waiting to see his reaction to her last jab.

That should buy her some more time, she thought. Time better spent working...and thinking about Bill. .

 

 

############################ 

 

 

Laura cherished the brief, guarded calls she got from Bill as he made his way through clandestine meetings around Caprica. He couldn’t give her much—she could tell there was always someone around—but it was enough.

He was safe. He missed her. He’d be back as soon as he could.

It was enough until she was in bed, the noise of the day ebbing, leaving her with time to remember how he had felt lying next to her. She wasn’t sure if thinking about that weekend made things better or worse.

Not that it mattered…thoughts of him holding her, kissing her would come into her mind anyway. Sometimes she’d almost be asleep when the hem of her nightgown—the one she’d worn that night—would hit her thigh a certain way, and she could feel his fingers sliding the satin up over her hips.

She’d tried to duplicate that feeling with her own fingers, but the anticipation was absent...the sense of wondering what he’d do next, where he’d touch…. Those nights, she’d give herself the quick relief her mind and body needed, trying to imagine him next to her, taking pleasure in watching her come apart.

It was a poor substitute, but it was better than nothing.

 

 

################################### 

 

 

It wasn’t until Bill was at a rural location, reconnoitering a future resistance base, that he had the time and privacy they were both starved for. He’d spent hours looking over proposed routes and communication trees, stockpiles of weapons and supplies. A small but growing cache of anti-radiation medication was being stockpiled as well, and leads were followed on a means to manufacture more if and when they were needed.

A small part of him was appalled at his hopes that if the Cylons attacked again, they’d still use nuclear weapons. He tried not to think about the possibility that their technology might have moved past that. A call to Laura would help dispel his dark thoughts. He had enough to think about without letting his imagination borrow trouble.

He’d washed down his bowl of rice, beans, and chilies with a cup of water from the filtered well. It tasted a hundred times better than what came out of the pipes in Caprica City. After finishing, he’d gone to the sparse room the local club had readied for him, visions flickering through his head of how easy it would be for the Cylons to contaminate the main water supplies of the cities.

He sat down on the Fleet surplus cot and realized he was finally alone, with no immediate demands on him for the first time in weeks. He got up and checked the lock on the plywood door again, then stripped off his clothes down to his faded boxers and got as comfortable as he could. The light from the keypad of his burner phone was the only illumination in the pitch-black underground room. The noise of the other men moving around in different parts of the bunker receded as he listened to the phone ringing. He couldn’t wait to hear her voice again.

Her soft “hello” brought back a flood of memories that mixed with his fears for the future. It would be so easy to share this with her…easy and useless, doing more harm to her than giving himself any relief. _Focus_ , he told himself. _Say what you need to, then keep it light_.

“Hey, baby. Is this a good time?”

He heard a quick intake of breath, let out in a quiet chuckle. “It’s a great time. I’ve been thinking about you, wondering when you’d call.”

“I’m going to be back in Old Caprica soon. I can’t wait to see you.” He let himself relax into the cot, her voice soothing some of the day away. “I’ve been worried about you, all the digging around you’re doing. You staying safe?”

There was a brief pause on the line. “As much as I can, yes.”

A faint thread of worry began to run through him. “Something I should know about? Is what you’re doing drawing any attention?”

“I’ve taken steps to keep a lower profile. I think I’m fine.”

He frowned into the darkness. There was something she wasn’t saying. He wondered what the catalyst had been for her to start “taking steps.”

“Are you okay, Laura?”

“I’m good…I’ve just been missing you. Not hearing your voice for weeks…I don’t know how I went years, I really don’t.” She sighed, and he hoped it was a sign of her relaxing as well.

“That’ll be over soon. We’re never gonna be apart like this again. Once you finish what you’re working on, whatever happens, we need to be together.”

“But all your meetings…” she said.

She sounded concerned, even a little wary. She’d apparently gotten used to questioning promises, pointing out holes.

“You won’t have many friends left in government after you go public. It’d be a good time to step down. You could come with me. It’s rough travel, but we’d be together.”

She gave a hum of agreement, but he wondered if her silence meant she was starting to realize the immediate aftermath of exposing the defense increases and profiteering. What it would mean to her on a personal level.

“The people I know in government now, I wouldn’t call ‘friends’. And being with you like that sounds like it’d be worth it, rough or not.”

“I hope you still think so after you get a taste of it.” He looked around the cramped room, the faint light coming through the cracks around the door barely showing the outline of the bare, half-finished space.

“I’m in a tiny underground room, concrete and cinderblock, and a Fleet-surplus cot. The best thing about it is it’s got a door that locks, and I’ve got you on the other end of the line.” He turned on his side and propped himself up on one elbow. “Not that I’m complaining. It’s the most comfortable I’ve been in weeks.”

“Hmm…wish I was there.” She giggled, low and sweet in his ear. “Well, maybe I should wish you were here, as long as I’m wishing.”

He chuckled as he imagined her in bed, stretched out on her high-dollar sheets over a huge pillow-top mattress. “Yeah, I think I’d rather be there. But since I can’t, I’m gonna be grateful I can finally spend some time with you, even if it’s like this.”

“I should warn you, it may just be a loop of me telling you how much I miss you.”

“I wouldn’t mind hearing that. It might make me feel better about staying awake just so I can think about being with you.” The memories were winning out over worry. Her voice was making them so real. He wondered how they felt to her. Wondered if she had her own set of memories of their time together, or if the same ones tugged at her as they did him.

“That night it stormed…I play that back in my head a lot,” he continued.

“Mmm…which part? Is there anything you particularly like to think about?”

He wasn’t sure if it was wishful thinking, but it sounded like her voice had lowered.

A sharp heat rushed through his belly straight to his cock as he remembered her straddling him, the storm outside nowhere near as fierce as the one they shared. He wasn’t sure if this was what she wanted to hear, but since she’d asked….

“You looked so beautiful when you came on top of me, your head thrown back….”

“Oh, Gods, yes. That was amazing. You were so….” Her voice trailed off and he wondered what she was thinking.

“Laura? You still there?”

“Sorry, I was just thinking about what you did that the last day we were together,” she said. “You were kissing me on the back of my neck ….”

He eased over onto his back. “You always did like that. That used to drive me crazy, watching you sweep up your hair, baring that spot for me, and me feeling like I’m the only one who knows about it…the only one who knows what kissing you there does to you.”

He could hear her breathing a bit more rapidly than before. His erection was straining against his boxers, and he told himself he was just trying to get comfortable as he tugged them down to his thighs, sighing with relief as he felt cool air touch his heated skin.

“It drove me crazy, too,” she murmured into the phone. “Remember the first time you did that, in your old apartment? I asked you to use your teeth, and you did, gentle at first, then you bit harder....”

He could still see her hands bracing against his bedroom door, knuckles turning white, holding perfectly still while he exposed how sensitive she was there. _He shouldn’t be doing this now_ …he was still telling himself that, even as one hand made its way down his belly and below.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d like that. I remember being scared and hopeful at the same time.”

“I’d say you finally got over being scared.”

“Back then, yeah. I didn’t know, though…how things stood now. Everything changed so much. I’m a different guy than I was then.”

“Not that different, Bill. Not in that way.”

His hand circled his cock as he told himself he’d wait until she hung up to take things further. The twitching he felt under his palm told him that would be a challenge.

“Different enough to be scared again, about how you felt about me…about us.” He drew in a deep breath. “I have a confession to make,” he said quietly.

“Hmm?” she hummed into the phone.

“That morning, when you were on your stomach, and we….” His memory of that morning washed over him. Judging by the change in her breathing, she shared that same memory and it hit her just as hard.

“The morning you bit my ass?” She sounded like she meant to tease him, make a joke of it, but she lowered her voice as she spoke.

“Yeah… the way you responded, like you wanted it rough, like you wanted me—”

“Just like you were,” she finished for him.

Her voice had become sultry, and he had to fight back a groan. He clenched his jaw as he lost the battle with his body and gave himself a few firm strokes. He was acting like a rook on his first off-planet call to his girlfriend after basic. Laura was evoking sweet, loving memories, wrapping herself in them, and he was using that to get off. She deserved better. He resolutely pulled his hand off his cock and rested it on his stomach.

Her soft voice came again. “Is that what you think about when you play with yourself? Me, under you like I was then?”

His mouth went dry. Images of that morning melted into the thought of her knowing, her imagining what he was doing. That had never been one of his kinks, jerking off in front of a woman, but suddenly, he could see himself doing that for her.

“Sometimes.” His hand slipped back down as he closed his eyes, defeated.

“I like that. I like the idea of you thinking about us.”

“Do you think about us…think about that weekend?” He wanted to ask a more detailed question but it seemed invasive. His uncertainty about how far she would want to take this kept him from saying more.

“You mean, when I’m touching myself?”

His erection jerked against his palm as he thought of her lying there, hand between her thighs as she fantasized about him, about them. It was exhilarating and oddly humbling at the same time.

“Yeah. When you’re touching yourself.” Just saying the words out loud made his cock bead with slick heat.

“I think about us, that weekend…and other times.” A quiet hum came over the line and he wondered what she was thinking about now.

“Like the time in my Mustang, the first time you—” she broke off with a soft groan.

“Oh, Gods, I remember that. Your thighs were like velvet when I kissed you there.”

He could see her in the back seat, both of them awkwardly positioned and not caring. “You always smelled like…like sex outside in the sun, when we were like that. I tried to do it like the men’s magazines said, all the tricks, but when I started, I just wanted to keep tasting you so godsdamn bad....”

He was giving himself long, even strokes now. He could stop before he came, he was sure. He just needed some pleasure while hearing her voice, feeling their connection.

“You drove me out of my mind that night,” she whispered. He heard a faint giggle. “And then we had to hunt for my panties afterward, remember? They had ended up under the driver’s seat.”

He remembered. They’d still been soaked, and the signs of her arousal had made him want to do everything all over again.

“I want to do that again, Laura, drive you out of your mind.”

“You are.”

It took a second for him to process what she’d just said. He felt everything tighten within him as he pictured her bringing herself off as they talked. The remembered feel of her under his fingers, his touch becoming surer as he learned her body…it began to wash over him as he roughened his strokes.

“Are you—“

“Mm-hmm…I’m touching myself the way I remember you doing it.” She turned hesitant. “I should have told you, shouldn’t I? I guess I was being selfish, wanting to relieve some of this tension while I listened to you.”

She’d be biting her lip now, and looking guilty and adorable. He just knew it.

“Not selfish at all…and I’ve got another confession,” he said.

Her approving laughter delighted him even as he felt his cheeks flush in the darkness. And then he began describing what he wanted to do with her the next time they were together, and her laughter was replaced with shallow breaths interspersed with soft moans. He punched the speaker button on his phone and laid it on the pillow beside his head, and the slight echo told him she'd done the same.

Memories from them both spilled over into plans and fantasies, back and forth through the line, until talk turned into guttural groans and keening through gritted teeth.

She sounded like she had thirty years ago, in the back seat, on the riverbank…like she sounded the last time they made love.

The final time she sobbed his name, he thrust his hips up, one hand clenched in the thin blanket, his other hand jerking until the blazing sensations raced through him in a white-hot starburst. He bit his lip to hold back the cries of her name, his love, that he wanted to let loose. It would have been loud enough to waken the whole compound.

He collapsed against the thin mattress, grabbing for the towel he’d brought to bed with him back when he’d only expected a quick, lonely release after the call’s end.

It seemed like days ago.

Her breathing changed gradually from ragged gasps to steady, deep breaths, and he ached to feel her next to him, to feel her heartbeat against his chest.

“That was wonderful,” she said, voice still a little shaky. “I never thought…I mean, I’d rather have you here, but this…I feel so close to you right now.”

“Gods, I wish I could see you, Laura. Wish I could hold you until you fell asleep.” He yawned unabashedly, welcoming the languor that was flowing through him.

She yawned as well, and he knew she was curling up under the covers, ready to drift off. They talked about nothing in particular for a few minutes, drawing out their connection a little bit longer.

“Hurry back, Bill. I need to feel you with me for real.”

“I know. I do, too. I love you, Laura.” He yawned again. “I’ll call you tomorrow. G’night.”

“You, too, Bill,” she whispered into the phone. “Good night.”

As the phone clicked off, he lay there, replaying the mental images they had created with words. He wondered why some words came so easily to her, but the “I love you, too” he ached to hear from her lips seemed so hard for her to say.

 _Maybe next time_. Maybe when they were together again, the reality of their love in each other’s touch, in their eyes, maybe then she could tell him she loved him. He felt it already…but something in him needed to hear it out loud.

He could wait for her to be ready. He carried that thought with him as he fell asleep.


	42. Missed Connections, Old Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Summary: Meetings go awry for the worst of reasons, and loyalty springs up in unexpected places_  
> .
> 
> "Everything looked different tonight, and it wasn’t solely due to the weather. "
> 
>  
> 
> *************************************************************

The briefcase seemed to emanate a greenish glow, deadly and sickening. Laura knew it was her imagination—it was the same oxblood leather case it had always been, misshapen in places from the reams of paperwork she’d carried there over the years. The gold-toned accents were worn, with the dull metal showing through the remnants of the bright finish.

It looked too nondescript to hold information more explosive than any nuke.

Laura drove through the evening fog that had rolled in from the bay earlier. Everything looked different tonight, and it wasn’t solely due to the weather. By the end of the night, her compilation of evidence would be in the hands of one of the most tenacious reporters on the air. Mandy Travit hadn’t made any promises, but Laura had heard the hint of excitement in her voice when she’d given the reporter a rough outline of her data over the phone.

Dr. Baltar was charismatic enough on television, suave and reassuring as he talked about the benefits of artificial intelligence. He made it sound like a safe, efficient way to control traffic patterns and resource allocations. Laura had studied his recent broadcasts—he had been very careful to deflect questions about controlling the defenses of the colonies. “Not my area,” he had demurred.

The contents of her briefcase said otherwise. The next war would be fought according to the dictates of his artificial intelligence algorithms. And the recent expansion of some of the biggest military industries told her those dictates would include purchase and deployment of millions of cubits’ worth of materiel.

She hoped she’d given the reporter enough, without giving away too much.

The vintage Mustang ran with a low growl that hinted at its power even though Laura kept it at a hair under the speed limit. It had started on the first try, like it was anxious to get out from under its protective tarp and do what it was made for. Bill had started coming to the house during the week, starting the old beauty up and making sure it would be ready when she needed it.

Maybe when she finished her meeting, she could get some time alone with Bill at her dad’s house. It was strange, to think of him being in her old house while she was stuck in town. She wondered if he just took care of the car, or if he spent any time in the rooms they’d been in, replaying old (and more recent) scenes in his head.

She felt her face flush. They’d had another erotic conversation earlier in the week, this one feeling like an exercise in frustration, a thin imitation that only served to remind them of what they were missing. She’d gotten more satisfaction listening to him talk about the past, hearing him recall what his innermost thoughts had been during the early days of falling for each other.

He had fallen so hard. They’d been so young. And the world, her world, had been so dizzyingly exciting back then. Her throat had tightened as she realized the depth of his hurt when she’d focused so completely on school.

He had been silent when she talked about finding out that he’d gone to prison, got married, fathered a child.

His quiet “I’m sorry” wasn’t an apology as much as it was an admission that he wished things had gone differently.

Her face had burned as he told her how out-of-place he’d felt on her campus. If time had only shifted a few minutes forward or backward on that day long ago, the course of their lives might have been so different. Her quiet “I’m sorry” had been an echo of his.

She hit her wipers again and peered through the fog at the traffic lights. Once she handed this information over to Ms. Travit, she could start planning her exit from the public arena and focus on a life with Bill. She wondered how long it would take for Richard to figure out she was involved in the media bombshell that was about to hit.

The entrance to the small park was so shrouded in fog she missed it the first time, turning around in a deserted industrial parking lot and heading back after realizing her mistake. As she turned into the entrance, she was momentarily blinded by headlights set to “high.” A long dark car pulled up and past her, windows black in the dim light. She paused in the entrance and watched the car leave in her rearview mirror. For a second she was afraid she’d gotten the time wrong and the reporter had decided she wasn’t going to show.

That car, though…it had looked too luxurious for a reporter, even though she’d only gotten a brief glimpse.

She shrugged as she slowly moved down the narrow road going into the park. Maybe this was a popular place for secret rendezvous. The thought made her smile, as she imagined parking under one of the big sheltering oaks and waiting for Bill to roar up on his bike, eager for a stolen half-hour.

A few hundred yards into the park, Laura realized the fog had blotted out the landmarks the reporter had described. She strained her eyes looking for the fountain surrounded by a brick walkway, but all she saw were dim outlines of trees and the glow of illuminated strips marking the edge of the road.

Her headlights finally cut through the fog enough for her to see the fountain. She scanned the parking area around the landmark—no car, no waiting reporter. The back of her neck tingled as the gloom closed in around her. She couldn’t hear any traffic sounds from the main road. The desolation of the empty park was beginning to rattle her nerves.

When her phone rang, every nerve in her body jumped. She fished it out of her bag, frowning at the unfamiliar number.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Roslin? This is Mandy Travit.”

The woman’s voice on the other end of the line sounded tight and controlled. There was no hint of the friendly, inquisitive tones she’d used in their previous conversation.

“Ms. Travit, I’m glad you called. I was getting worried. I’ve been driving around the park—“

“I’m not coming,” the reporter said brusquely. “My producer says he’s not interested.”

“Not _interested_? But you said—"

“I was wrong. He’s doubtful someone in your position could ferret out anything significant by yourself.”

Laura frowned at the slight emphasis the reporter had put on the last two words. Bill had been the one who had arranged for Laura to make contact with Mandy Travit, saying that the reporter had shared some of the same concerns.

The tingling at the back of her neck grew stronger.

“He thinks your contacting me might be just a way to get public sympathy against Adar’s cuts in education spending. And from what you said when we talked before, you really don’t have much more than that, do you?”

Dread knotted Laura’s stomach as she picked up on the out the reporter was giving her. There was a slight hollow echo coming through the phone that told her others were listening. She tried not to think about where the woman was, or who she might be with.

“I thought the public would want to know about the…short-changing of the Twelve Colonies’ children, the damage to public education the cuts would mean.”

“Call a press conference, Ms. Roslin. You’ve got channels available to you to air your concerns. Maybe you need to make a stronger case to President Adar. But really, what you say you have…it’s just not what we’re interested in. I hate to put it like this, but you…you’re not that important.”

Laura’s fingers twisted the strap of her handbag as she listened to the reporter reiterate how harmless Secretary Roslin was. She hoped whoever was listening was buying it. To her ears, she sounded like a naïve, self-important bureaucrat who wanted to use the media to do an end-run around the administration’s decisions. That sounded safe enough. Annoying, but not threatening.

“I see," she said in a frosty tone. "Well, thank you for your time, Ms. Travit.” _And your cover-up._

“Don’t mention it.” The reporter’s voice held a resigned note. Laura took her words for the warning it sounded like.

She looked up as the phone clicked off. The fog had lifted, although she could still feel it in her bones. She slipped her phone back in her bag and pulled out the burner phone. Bill would want to hear this.

A faint snap of a breaking twig, close enough to be heard through her window, caught her attention. She laid the phone down as she put the car into gear. Even without the shrouding fog, the park seemed to whisper “danger is here.” As she drove, she whispered a quick prayer for Mandy Travit’s safety.

 

 

************************

 

 

Mandy shot a defiant look at the nondescript little man in front of her. “I told you it was no big deal. The woman’s a drama queen. She just wanted to use my name to get support for her stupid cause.”

“Yet you agreed to meet her in a deserted park so she could tell you about her ‘stupid cause.’" His look reeked of skepticism as he cocked an eyebrow at the disheveled reporter. “And you said at the studio that you thought you were going to break something big in the next few days.”

Her heart sank. She tried to remember who had been around when she spoke in vague terms about the exposé she was anticipating. Fear made the faces swim together in her head.

“I thought I could get something on the rumors about Adar and his extramarital hook-ups. Roslin’s worked with him for years. I figured if I acted interested in the budget cuts, it might give me an opening to dig into what she knows about him.”

It was a thin lie, and if the man in front of her knew her work at all, he’d know she didn’t chase that kind of story. Hope flared for a second as he nodded thoughtfully.

The dulcet voice behind her stamped the brief hope back down.

“Now, Ms. Travit, that doesn’t sound like your usual interests at all. Scandal-mongering? _Really_?”

The leggy blonde came up to her side and placed a well-groomed hand on Mandy’s shoulder. The touch made her shiver. She could feel the disproportionate strength of that hand though the thin silk of her shirt.

“I did what you wanted. You heard her—she’s not likely to approach the media again for anything.” Her palms began to sweat.

“You did, didn’t you?” The blonde’s serene smile should have seemed friendly; instead, it made Mandy’s heart pound against her ribs.

“You said you’ve give me my car back if I cooperated.” She could see the little sports car, the man in the teal jacket looking so wrong in her driver’s seat. That was the last thing she’d seen before she was shoved into the back seat of the luxurious town car with the automatic locking doors.

Asking about her car let her put off asking about herself a minute longer. She wasn’t sure she could handle the answer right this second.

“Doral, go bring Ms. Travit’s car around.”

He frowned like a child being denied a treat as he turned to leave the room. The door had just shut behind him when it was pushed open again.

_How’d he change clothes so fast?_

That was the last thought she had as she felt the cool, smooth hands close around her neck.

 

 

**************************************

 

 

Chief Fisk stared down at the reports in front of him. The official report, just taken off the printer, was short and grim. He sipped at the stale station house coffee as he scanned the contents, tuning out the hum of office noises on the other side of his door.

He’d moved to one of the smaller offices once his assistant had taken over most of the Chief’s duties. Another step towards retirement, he figured. His days of fieldwork were long past him, but he could still file reports, tease out what was significant. And if once in a while, a report made its way to his locked drawer instead, and then on to a local garage owner, it was for a good cause.

He should've felt bad that the first thing he scrutinized in the report was the location of the body. The reporter had been found outside of his jurisdiction, and definitely was not his problem. Not unless something turned up that indicated she’d been murdered inside his area before being dumped in an isolated gully. He doubted anything would, from the description and notes. Not a fingerprint or shred of trace evidence had been found on her, not even from the bruises around her neck.

He set the report aside and turned to the lined notebook page that had been left in his desk drawer, the paper smudged and creased in the middle. He’d seen surveillance details ebb and flow over the years, depending on what the Adamas and some of the others were up to. And he’d seen the spike in activity when Zak Adama's funeral had gathered some interesting types all in one place. Nothing that alarming so far, and easily handled with a phone call to give Bill a head’s up.

Fisk rubbed his upper arm as he looked at the two reports on his desk. He’d never been a fancy flyboy like Adama and some of the others…there was no Viper tattoo on his bicep. But there was a pair of crossed Baretta CX4 Storm rifles over a scrolled “Semper Fidelis” inked there.

He’d spent his war years protecting those flyboys and others like them. It felt like a century ago sometimes, and the black ink had faded to a greenish grey. But once a Colonial Marine…well, there was a reason their motto was “Semper Fidelis.” Decades of being a cop didn’t wipe that away.

He studied the notes in front of him that said there were plans for an increased security presence in his corner of Old Caprica City. He could see it if it were coming from the drugs division, or the firearms division. But a detail from that prick Adar’s Secret Service division?

This had to be about the Roslin woman. Somebody needed to let her and Adama know to step up the caution when she was in the neighborhood. He shoved his chair back and stood, hitching up his belt. It’d do him good to get out of the office.

He glanced at the homicide report again. Seems like he’d heard Bill mention Mandy Travit’s name a few times over the past several months. He folded the report and stuck in in his shirt pocket. That, plus the intel on the increased security should be good for a decent cup of Tauron coffee over at the Adama shop.

 

 


	43. Safe at Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The night before she goes public, the irresistible force that is Laura Roslin meets the immovable object that is Bill Adama. They find they have very different ideas about what it means to be "safe at home."_
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> "He’s making a home for me, as best as he can right now."
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For the first time in months, driving towards her family home didn’t give Laura a feeling of relief and anticipation. Bill’s voice had held no trace of his usual reassuring rumble the last time they talked. He had been terse and discouraging when he told her about the reporter’s body being found.

“While you’re in the city, you should be under enough protection from the Secret Service. Out here…I’m not sure what’s going on out here. Word is there’s more official presence than there used to be. And further word is, it’s probably not for the safety of the Secretary of Education.”

“I’ve got you for that,” she had argued, hand gripping the phone.

“I’m out of town until mid-morning. Laura, please, stay where you are. We’ll have this weekend.” His voice had softened then. “I can’t wait to see you, either. You know that.”

“I’ll stay safe, Bill.”

His silence on the other end of the line told her he’d picked up on what she left unsaid. She’d be careful…she’d stay safe…wherever she might be.

And she _would_ see him tomorrow, before the Cabinet meeting. It felt as necessary as breathing.

She’d carefully hung her suit on the hook in the back seat. It was a deep rose, a little on the short side, but still projected authority without being threatening.

She wondered if it would be the last outfit she’d wear as Secretary of Education.

The briefcase lay in the passenger seat, catches firmly shut on the documents she had inside. She rehearsed opening statements and the order in which she’d start laying information out. And if Adar told her to stop after she started… That would tell her a lot about him and his role in all this.

Of course, not stopping would be a direct act of insubordination against the president of the Twelve Colonies. She had turned that idea over and over in her mind, but still couldn’t quite imagine what that would be like.

Bill was wrong. The unsafe thing was for her to stay in her apartment, building up the next day in her mind until she made herself sick. Or worse, until she lost her nerve.

Being in the house she’d grown up in, surrounded by the memories of her family, memories of him…that’s where she needed to be tonight, for safety’s sake. Maybe she could absorb some of her father’s calm courage, standing in his office and rehearsing what she’d say.

She tried to remember if insubordination to the president carried any criminal charges. Not that prison was the worst possible outcome, by far. She heard Mandy’s fear-filled voice in her head again.

As the cityscape gave way to suburban yards, then open space, she felt herself calming down. Whatever would happen, would happen. She’d give herself this night at home, and some time with Bill tomorrow. After that….

Laura glanced at the clock on the dashboard. By this time tomorrow, it would all be over, one way or another.

She could do this.

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################################

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It was deep twilight when Laura pulled her sedan into the garage, slowly easing it into the space next to the emerald Mustang. Her headlights flashed over the gleaming finish, picking up the metallic flecks that made the deep green color come alive, shimmering in the yellow beams.

Bill had told her last time how he’d added the aluminum flecks to the last sea-green coat of paint, then gone over the car again with a transparent coat spiked with even tinier bits of mica. “ _I wanted it to shine, like your eyes did on sunny days, when you were happy about something.”_

She was glad she’d left the tarp off last time she was here. It was the “welcome home, honey” she couldn’t get from him tonight.

The steps up to the kitchen door looked freshly swept. Bill had said he came over when he got the chance, when he wanted to have some time to think away from the raucous atmosphere of the club. She hadn’t asked why he couldn’t get that peace in his own house. Maybe his place had become too crowded for comfort with Lee, and that girl, Kara something.

And memories of Zak.

She stepped inside the kitchen, flicking the lights and punching in the alarm code with one hand, her overnight bag and suit in the other. Everything seemed so different from the day months ago when she’d come for Zak’s funeral. The house had lost its shuttered, closed-up feeling, its stale air of disuse. It wasn’t empty anymore.

_Neither was she._

Even if no one was physically present, the house seemed revived, and for a minute, it felt like home had always felt when her family was alive; welcoming, reassuring….giving her a sense of who she was. The change was Bill…the change was her with Bill.

She loved her apartment, high and bright, overlooking the city that sparkled so prettily in the dark. She was happy enough there…but it wasn’t home, not like this had been, and now was again.

She caught herself humming as she walked through the kitchen to the hallway and up the stairs, switching on table lamps as she went. She hung her suit on the closet doorknob and tossed her overnight bag on the bed. A faint rumble in her stomach reminded her she’d skipped supper to get here before it got too late.

She sighed at the thought of going back out…the nearest real grocery store was ten miles away and the local markets still closed at six. Maybe there was a can of soup stuck back in the pantry cupboard. If she was lucky, there might even be some packs of crackers that weren’t too far past their expiration date.

Back in the kitchen, Laura turned the old table radio to a classic rock station, then started to forage. She opened the refrigerator, hoping she’d left at least one diet soda in there last time.

She blinked as she looked over the contents of the glass shelves. _He must be over here quite a bit._

Both kinds of diet soda she favored were represented—a six pack of grapefruit and another one of cola. The packs sat next to a few bottles of Old Tauron lager and an unopened bottle of Pinot Grigio. The second shelf held bottled water and a carton of orange juice In the door rack were two unopened packages of sliced cheese, one white and riddled with holes, one the deep yellow of aged cheddar. She picked up the package of sliced turkey next to the cheese. The date told her it had been bought two days ago.

This wasn’t for him. Not all of it, anyway. He was keeping the kitchen stocked for her. She smiled, thinking of their last encounter in the flesh. When they were finally together, he didn’t plan on any delays for a run to the store. _He’s making a home for me, as best as he can right now._

Such ordinary things...or maybe not so ordinary. She couldn’t remember the last time another person gave her this kind of care, making sure she had the little, simple things that made her life a bit more comfortable.

She visualized the small under-counter refrigerator in Richard’s private office. Had there ever been anything in there other than the sickly-sweet, over-caffeinated sodas he liked? If she ever wanted something to drink after they spent some stolen time together, she settled for tap water until she got back to her own office. A minor inconvenience, never really worth mentioning. But telling, now that she looked back.

Turning to the pantry by the refrigerator, she found herself anticipating what she might find. Would there be more of the things he remembered she liked, or would there be a generic assortment of basic staples? She reached for a cupboard, feeling like a kid on a treasure hunt.

In the back of her mind loomed the image of her briefcase and the task she had ahead of her, but she was enjoying this break from worrying about it. She’d eat, then plan her strategy over the course of the evening, calling Bill before it got too late. She’d let him know where she was and what she was doing, and that she was safe.

She pulled the cupboard door open.

_Oh._

He must be spending a _lot_ more time here than she realized. This certainly didn’t look like it was for her.

Stacked in front of her were at least six Styrofoam bowls, shrink-wrap covering the colorful pictures of different types of Tauron noodles, Old Tauron lettering swirled across the front. Her nose wrinkled. She hadn’t eaten dried noodles since college, when packaged bowls were six for a cubit, twelve bowls a cubit on double-coupon days.

A further search found neatly stacked cans of mushrooms, bean sprouts, and coconut milk, three jars of different kinds of hot sauce (sweet, garlic, and “blistering”), and an assortment of mixed vegetables and canned beans. A wire bin held large yellow onions and a few heads of garlic next to bottles of olive oil, vinegar, and cooking wine.

Not her usual cuisine, but she could make do.

Grabbing a Styrofoam bowl and some cans, Laura set about fixing something she could see Bill whipping together, probably with a phone tucked under his chin and an opened bottle of beer on the counter. The picture of him like that made her ache with longing for him to be here, chopping and stirring with no thoughts of war hanging over their heads.

_Maybe someday._

Getting out the cutting board and her mother’s favorite knife, Laura cut an onion in half, setting one half aside and chopping up the other. She began sautéing the pieces in a splash of olive oil, turning the burner down before tearing the cover off the noodle bowl. At least she could do better than pouring hot water over the dried translucent threads and the skimpy dehydrated vegetable flakes that came with them

Within minutes, the caramelized onions were joined by a half-can of mushrooms, all bathed in a light broth of flavorful coconut milk, ready for her to add the noodles. She discarded the enclosed spice packet with a dismissive sniff, dousing the mixture with some of the sweet-hot chili sauce he’d left. A sprinkle of dried herbs she’d found over the stove, and the concoction was ready to simmer for a few minutes, the noodles plumping up nicely.

She had ample time to take one of the good wine glasses down from the china cabinet and open the chilled bottle of Pinot Grigio. She filled her glass half-way, then dug in the junk drawer until she found a wine bottle stopper. It was tempting to delay putting the wine back in the fridge, and she considered topping her glass up to the brim….

She mentally thanked Bill for stocking the bottled water as she turned the wine stopper closed and put the bottle back on the shelf. With the day she had ahead of her tomorrow, she couldn’t afford even a trace of a hangover.

Her doctored noodle dish ready, she took out a fork and soup spoon, noticing the sets of chopsticks Bill had put in the drawer beside the silverware. _This is what our home would look like, if we had one together._

She slurped and chewed thoughtfully as she pictured a home that would have room for both of them, like dark lager and white wine sharing a refrigerator shelf.

Watercolors and model Vipers decorating the living room.

The old cliché that would still ring true for them, the contrast of leather and lace in their closet.

She took a long swallow of wine and brought her head out of the clouds. She planned to call him as soon as the pan and soup bowl were washed and put away, and if she talked to him while thinking like this, she’d start tearing up over lost chances. He’d hear it in her voice and focus on their past instead of their present and their future.

Finishing the wine, she rinsed out the glass and set it in the drainer, reaching for a bottle of water from the fridge. The small burner phone was on the bar, gleaming in the soft kitchen light. A tingle of anticipation flicked through her as she grabbed the phone and went into the living room.

Curling up in a corner of the distressed leather sofa, she opened the phone and hit his number on the speed-dial. Even though they’d talked earlier that day, she was suddenly dying to hear his voice one more time. She wanted…no, she _needed_ to hear it, here in this house.

 

 

########################### 

 

 

_Be careful what you wish for,_ Laura reflected. She’d heard his voice, all right. His frustration had come through loud and clear when she told him she’d left the relative safety of Caprica City and was sitting alone at her family home. They’d gone back and forth, letting their need for each other come out in sharp tones and words that bordered on ugly.

She wondered if things would ever be easy for them for longer than a weekend.

In the end, they had reached a compromise that left them both grumbling. She would stay in the house overnight (which had always been her plan) and he would send a couple of his people over to stand watch (which had certainly not been _her_ plan, but Bill was unmovable on that issue).

She remembered the scenes she’d seen at the garage over the years, the assortment of rough-looking bikers in leathers gathered around barrel fires in the cool of the night. With Bill, she found it easy to see the man inside the cut, under the ink. She wasn’t sure about the rest of them.

She was still in her bedroom, laying out her clothes for the next morning, when she heard the low rumble of motorcycle engines below her window. The faint light from a distant street lamp revealed the outline of two figures as they dismounted and rolled their bikes towards the garage. She shoved her bare feet into an old pair of flats she kept under her bed and shrugged a light fleece hoodie over her tee shirt and jeans.

The sound of the garage door opening and closing made her brow furrow. She wasn’t sure how she felt about people she didn’t know having the passcode to the garage. Another thing to discuss with Bill when they saw each other again. The list of topics was growing, chipping away at the mental image of their reunion she’d been carrying for days.

She was down the stairs and halfway to the kitchen when the light knocking began at the back door. _At least whoever he sent didn’t have a frakking key._ She took some small comfort at that. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. Some of the tension left her shoulders as she realized who he’d sent to guard her.

“Hey, Ms. Roslin.” Lee stood there with a backpack slung over one arm. For a second, she was back in her principal’s office, confronting an angry teenager with a similar backpack and a bad attitude. Then she saw the scruffy shadow along his jaw and the lines starting to show at the corners of his eyes. He’d grown up, and his own adult trials had begun etching themselves into his features.

“Lee, it’s good to see you again,” she said, stepping aside and holding the door open for him and his partner.

“You remember Kara, right? She brought you a message from Dad a few weeks ago.”

Laura’s lip twitched as she remembered the young woman’s visit, its purpose disguised with a bouquet of cheap flowers. Kara was in jeans and a weathered leather jacket, a resigned look on her face as she darted her eyes around the kitchen.

“I remember. Sorry you guys had to come out tonight.”

“No problem, ma’am. The Old Man was worried about you.” Kara’s tone was flat and she seemed to be avoiding looking in Lee’s direction.

There was a subtext between these two, but she didn’t know if she had it in her to try to understand it tonight.

“I could tell he was worried when we talked.” She turned away, not wanting to dwell on the last conversation she’d had with Bill. “There’s sandwich stuff and drinks in the refrigerator. Make yourselves at home.”

Kara tried to cover up her snort with a mumbled “Thanks” as Laura walked them into the living room. The leather couch loomed large in front of her and she felt a flush creep over her cheeks. It was too easy to remember the feel of its cool surface under her knees as she’d straddled Bill, rocking them both towards a frantic finish.

Even with all the valid reasons for these two to be in her home, it felt like some privacy of hers and Bill’s was being invaded by their presence. They were bringing the outside world, with all its dangers and worries, into the space she’d been considering a refuge.

_There really weren’t any safe places left. Not anymore._

She turned to Lee and Kara, wondering what the protocol was for this kind of thing. She mentally shrugged and thought about how she’d handle the situation if they were Secret Service agents during a “heightened threat” state.

“As I said, help yourself to whatever you need. The half-bath is through there,” she said, pointing to the hallway. “There’s a guest bedroom at the end of the hall with extra blankets and pillows in the closet.”

She pointed at the remote on the coffee table. “I’ve kept the cable on. Let me know if you get any pay-per-views.” A wry smirk played over her lips at Lee’s raised eyebrows. “I’ve had close security before, Lee. I know it gets boring around three in the morning.”

Lee turned to Kara. “Go get a couple of pillows and a blanket from the guest room, would you? I’m gonna check the upstairs.”

“Yes, sir, Veep.” She gave him a mock-thoughtful look. “Oh, wait…you’re not _my_ V.P., are you?” She held his gaze for a second. “Sure thing, _Lee_.

Laura watched his face turn stony, like his father’s could when pushed too hard.

“Don’t start, Kara. Just…get the stuff, okay?”

“I will.” She stood there, hands in her pockets as she looked around the room, seemingly intent on showing Lee she would do as he asked, but on her own terms.

Laura wondered about that subtext again as she said a quiet “good night” to the tense young woman and went upstairs, Lee’s boot-shod footsteps following behind her.

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######################

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Lee went through the upstairs rooms quickly, checking window locks and drawing drapes closed. Laura stood in the doorway of her bedroom, leaning against the door jamb as she watched him work. He looked older than he had at the funeral a few months ago.

She wondered what being vice president of an MC entailed. Whatever was involved, it looked like it was taking a toll on him. She wondered if Kara Thrace was adding to or alleviating the stress. She suspected it was the former.

“All clear, Ms. R. I’ll just—“

“Lee, come talk with me a minute, please.” She turned at his uncomfortable glance into her room and went to sit on the side of her bed, motioning him to sit beside her. He kept to his feet, leaning up against the bedpost instead.

“What is it, Ms. Roslin?”

She caught her reflection in her dresser mirror, chagrin tightening her lips. Just like the old days. He wasn’t going to make this easy.

“Are you okay with being here, Lee? You and Kara both seem really edgy.”

He looked away, his gaze playing over her set of trophies on the dresser. “We’re fine. It’s just that I’m used to having another member with me. Dad said he wanted Kara on this, though. Which is fine for him to say, but it puts me in kind of a frakked-up place.”

“What do you mean?” She folded her legs under her, getting comfortable as she watched his face mirror her confusion. He sat down with a sigh, making the bedsprings creak with his weight.

“Kara…I really don’t have any right to ask her to do anything. She’s not a club member, she’s not a member’s old lady…I’m not sure what she is, since Zak got killed. My almost-sister-in-law, maybe? My dad’s…godsdaughter? It’s weird, her staying in the same house.” His fingers traced the pattern on the bedspread, moving over the swirls of color.

“You mean staying here, or…?”

He shook his head. “She’s been living at our house. She was staying over a lot with Zak, and Dad said she could keep on after…everything happened.”

_And Bill had been out of town most of the past few months_. She wondered how that was playing out in the Adama home.

“That seems kind of unsettled. It must be uncomfortable for both of you.”

The years slipped away from his face little by little, until she could see the boy trying to make sense of his place in the world.

“It is…we both miss Zak so much it hurts, but we don’t talk about it. I…it doesn’t feel right to bring girls over anymore,” he said quietly, an embarrassed flush flashing over his cheeks. “Not with her not having anybody. But I don’t want her _not_ to be there, either.”

“Sounds like you wish things could be easier between the two of you.”

He shrugged. “Wishes and horses, right? And I don’t think “Kara” and “easy” are words that go together, you know?”

“No, I don’t suppose they are. I saw that the day I met her.” She smiled gently. “You were always good at figuring out feelings, Lee, even if there were times when you didn’t act like it.”

“That was a long time ago, Ms. R. I’ve changed a lot since then.” His face seemed to shutter against the past, against old hurts. He got to his feet, hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched. The way he used to stand when he was a teenager in front of her desk.

She rose, nodding at his words. “People do change, Lee, you’re right.” She put her hands on his shoulders, turning him to look at her. “But in the important ways, they don’t. Your father and I—”

“Lee! You taking root up there or what?” Kara’s exasperated yell came up from the bottom of the stairs.

Laura suppressed a chuckle as she dropped her hands. “We can talk in the morning, if you want. Sounds like you’re back on duty for the night.”

He finally grinned, a warmer light than she’d ever seen there shining in his eyes. She wondered if there was any way these two could be good for each other. “Yeah, sounds like it,” he agreed.

She surprised herself by reaching out and giving him a hug. “It’ll get better, Lee. It just takes time.”

He returned the hug, giving her a speculative look as he stepped back. “I guess you and the old man are experts in that area.”

It was her turn to flush with embarrassment. “Good night, Lee,” she said, dodging his words.

His returning grin told her he knew what she was doing. “Night, Ms. R.” He turned and left the room. She watched him go down the stairs, yelling, “I’m coming, Thrace. Keep your pants on!” Laura couldn’t make out the rejoinder Kara threw back at him.

She closed the door behind him and started getting ready for bed. As she slid between the sheets and clicked off the bedside lamp, she could still hear snatches of their conversation drifting up from the living room.

She hoped it didn’t take them thirty years to figure things out.

 

 


	44. Two Hands on the Wheel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where there's a will, there's a way..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally wrote this on 12/27/2011, fairly new to the world of BSG and drabbles.
> 
>  
> 
> Title: The Old Man, the Old Lady  
> Author: fragrantwoods  
> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 200  
> Setting: A/U, Pre-attack, a small town outside Caprica City. Bill mustered out of the Colonial Fleet soon after the Cylon War was over and took another "career path"...a bit of "Caprica" reference slipped in re: grandmotherly opinion.  
> A/N: Not exactly a crossover; more of a cracky mash-up after watching Sons of Anarchy and Battlestar Galactica too close together...  
> ************************
> 
> The mechanic was a shaggy, rugged-looking man with a white smile under his mustache.  
> Cut-off denim sleeves showed thick biceps and varicolored ink. He had been a Viper pilot, a Cylon War Vet. Had two sons.
> 
> He'd pulled some time, by the crude bluish ink along his knuckles.
> 
> He went by “'Dama”, or “the Old Man” these days. He hadn’t been “Bill” in years. He was just an old biker in a motorcycle club, the Tauron Outlaws Motorcycle Club, Original Caprica, president of men like himself.
> 
> He held back 10% of every deal. A handful knew where the second cache was: Tigh-man, Doc, and Lee, his son and TOMCOC’s V.P. Scattered cynical men across Caprica, on the edge of the law and certain that the Cylons weren’t done with humanity any more than humanity was done with over-confidence.
> 
> Carolanne split while he was inside—he should have listened to his grandmother, he thought. Carolanne never did have the chops to be an MC Old Lady.
> 
> The long-legged cool redhead exiting the smoking sedan, now…rueful grin with a hard-ass edge, meeting his eyes with aplomb…she had Old Lady potential, if memory served.
> 
> “Hey, Laura. Your ride need work?”
> 
> She smiled.
> 
> “Yeah.”
> 
> ***************************************
> 
> A/N I know this is ridiculous...but there are scenes with Laura in BSG and scenes with Gemma in SoA that make me think they have some sisterhood under the skin.
> 
>  
> 
> _...and here's the rest of that day's story..._

 

The squares of pale watery light slowly resolved themselves into the windows of her bedroom, lit with the rising sun. Laura blinked as she pulled herself out of her deep sleep and into the new day. She had slept so well…

She uncurled her body, shoulders still relaxed into the bulk at her back. She stretched her legs against the cool sheets, one foot on a quest for the solid calf she knew would be behind her. His scent was faint but present, and she remembered her anxious heart rate slowing as she took deep breaths of his smell and hers, mingled together in the bedding….

Her skin registered the smooth fabric at her back a second before the memory returned. She had shamelessly buried her nose in the pillow she now thought of as “his” until she found traces of the fragrance of his skin and hair. And when the bed had seemed far too big and empty, she had tugged his pillow over to rest against her back, like she’d done as a little girl when the night had felt too big.

That scant comfort, and the shushed blend of occasional conversation from downstairs, had lulled her into a sleep that was blessedly dreamless after hours of her mind going over what this day would bring. She hoped the two downstairs had found some peace in the night, as well.

She hoped Bill had found some peace, too.She rubbed her eyes and looked over at the vintage clock radio on the nightstand. Almost seven o’clock. She smiled at the clock face, the hands coated in luminescent paint that glowed in the dark. Analog clocks always seemed a little gentler, a bit less strident than the harsh announcement of “6:52” glaring at her insistently as the clock did in her apartment.

She was up on her elbows, getting ready to get out of bed and start her shower, when the burner phone began vibrating on the nightstand a second before it rang. She grabbed it and flipped it open, her smile widening.

“Good morning.”

“Morning, sweetheart. You sleep okay?” There was no trace of the tension that had marred their last conversation.

“Um-hm. Thanks for sending Lee and Kara over.”

He was silent for a second. “I wasn’t sure how you were going to take that. You sounded pretty irritated I was going to send someone at all.”

She held the phone to her ear as she sat up against her pillows. “We take some getting used to, don’t we? For the both of us.”

His chuckle sounded sweet and relieved. “Yeah, I guess we do. I’m used to…well, I’m used to people doing what I tell them to.”

“And I’m used to running things my way.” _Most of the time, anyway_. A guilt-tinged picture of Richard flashed through her mind.

“Anyway, it was good to see Lee again,” she continued.

“I thought he’d be the best, and Kara…” he sighed. “I’m trying to give her some useful things to do, help get her grounded a little more.”

It sounded like Lee had her pegged when he described her as Bill’s godsdaughter, from the concern in his voice.

“So, where are you? Are you back already?” she asked.

“Not yet. I stopped for some coffee. I left around midnight.” His voice softened. “It’s been a while since I rode into the sunrise. I’m just coming out of the foothills…you should see it here, Laura. The sky’s all gold and red over hills that just roll on and on, as far as you can see.”

She could envision the scene as he described it. If all this… _other_ business didn’t exist, they could be seeing sights like this together, enjoying the beauty Caprica had to offer. Anger flared hot in her chest at the idiots who were ready to grind the planets into war zones again.

“Maybe after this is over, we can go there. I’d love to see what you’re seeing, Bill.” She swung her feet down to the floor, her toes reaching for her slippers.

“If it’s still here, after everything.” His tone had turned somber.

“You don’t think what I’m planning will work, do you?” Her fingers tightened on the phone.

“I hope it will, Laura. But there’s still a lot you— _we_ —don’t know. I’ve got more inside intel coming later this morning from deep inside the defense department. It should give us a clearer picture of where the key players stand.”

She began pacing, ice blue nightgown swirling around her thighs as she walked to the window and back again. “When will you hear something?”

“It should be before your meeting. I’ll get word to you as soon as I hear.”

She glanced at the clock again. Ten after seven. “What time will you be back at the shop?”

“I’m about three hours out. But—“

“I want to see you before I go into the city, Bill.” She came to a stop in front of the mirror over her dresser. She looked pale, and there was an anxious look around her eyes she needed to erase before she went into the Cabinet meeting.

“I wish you could, babe, but there’s not enough time. I’ll be back around ten-thirty, but…” his voice lowered. “When I see you again, I want more than just a few minutes of telling you goodbye. I want hours. I want—“

“We don’t always get what we want,” she said quietly.

“That goes for both of us.” His voice was loaded with regret. “I mean it, Laura. Don’t come to the garage in your state sedan. I told you there’s increased Secret Service presence around town. You don’t need Adar getting word you met with an outlaw MC, a bunch of felons, within hours of dropping your bombshell on the Cabinet meeting. He’d use that to discredit everything you said.”

“I’ll take care of it, Bill.” She watched the anxiety ebb from her eyes, resolve taking its place. “I’ll see you when it’s safe.”

He gave a relieved sigh. “Good. That’s good, Laura. As soon as you finish your meeting, come back to your place here, and I’ll be over once you let me know you’re home. Better yet, call me when you’re on your way, and I’ll go over and….”

“Bill, _wait_.” She took a deep breath. “We don’t know what’ll happen at that meeting. I don’t know if I’ll be…in a position to call you afterwards.”

The line was silent for a moment.

“I know what you’re trying to do, Laura. I’m with you on hoping it works, I told you that. But swear to me that if I find out there’s some danger we didn’t know about, and get word to you, you’ll stand down.”

His cold military tone was unexpectedly sharp. Her determination wrestled with her experiences with him. She wouldn’t be standing here, getting ready to expose a conspiracy, if he hadn’t trusted her…trusted her with his life, his life’s work.

He’d trusted her more than her father had.

She closed her eyes. He was the same Bill she’d trusted to get her through an ice storm when her instincts had screamed at her to give up, to get off the road.

He didn’t want her to turn tail and rabbit away from danger. He’d never wanted that.

He wanted her to be smart. And careful. He wanted her to craft her own safety, not go into this with blind heroics.

“I promise, Bill. I swear on my father’s grave, if you tell me to stop, I will.”

“I won’t say it lightly, Laura.”

“I know,” she whispered.

She cleared her throat before speaking again, steadying her voice. “I’m going to get in the shower now, get ready for the day. And Bill…whatever I do, it’ll be smart. And necessary.”

“And safe. Don’t forget safe.” She heard him draw a deep breath. “I’ll be with you, Laura. All the way.”

Tears pricked unexpectedly at her eyes. She looked down at the phone, watching the green flickers for a second, then brought it back to her mouth.

“I love you, Bill. I’ll see you soon.”

She flipped the phone closed before he had a chance to respond. Wiping her eyes with a steady hand, she grabbed her robe and shoved her arms into the sleeves. She was calculating times and distances as she left her room, heading for the shower.

She had places to go, and things to do.

 

###################

 

Jeremiah Barksdale stood in front of his bedroom mirror clad only in an oversized bath towel. A routine scan of his reflection reassured him that he was still at least eighty-five, maybe eighty-eight percent as fit as he ever was. _Still battle-ready, even after all these years._

_After everything._

He frowned at the slight suggestion of softness at his midsection. He’d have to start hitting the basement gym at the Presidential Residence a little more regularly. Bump his stats back up to a solid ninety percent. Age was no excuse to get soft. Nothing was.

Resolution made, he slipped on a crisp pair of boxers and sat on the side of his bed to pull on his black dress socks. He made himself focus on the scars running from his right calf up over his knee. One was old and faded, a faint black line barely visible against his dark brown skin. The other was newer, raised and dark red, crooked and ridged along the side of his leg. There was still a lump between the two scars.

There would always be a lump between them.

The daily examination of his scars was a ritual he never planned to stop. It reminded him of important things. Without those reminders, he knew there’d be a third scar one day, if he lived long enough for it to heal.

It had been the lump that did it. The lump, and the liberal application of whiskey. The V.A. docs had told him over and over that the shrapnel was most likely a piece of bulkhead, inert metal, not worth the risk of cutting deep into the muscle to take it out.

Jeremiah knew better. He’d been right on top of the toaster when he fired and kept firing until he’d blown it to bits. Then there had been the grenade, then nothing but black for a while.

He’d been home for a month when the piece of shrapnel began to throb beneath the surface of his skin. It throbbed to a rhythm that reminded him of the cadence of the toasters marching down corridors, while he and the others pulled back again and again. Whiskey, he found, quieted down the lump. Or at least made it easier to ignore for a time.

He took his neatly pressed black pants off their hanger and slipped them on. A starched white shirt, one of eight hanging side by side, came next. He tied the narrow black tie in a neat Windsor knot. When he finished, he was a study in black and white, with only the grey of his close-cropped hair and the dark brown of his skin for contrast.

His pocket contents were laid out in a neat row: I.D., wallet, keys, phone, and the item he always picked up first…the carved figure of Hestia.

Hestia, the goddess of dedication to duty.

Of discipline.

Of acceptance.

Of service to others.

Her figure had been the first thing he put in his right pocket for the last ten years, seven months, and six days.

His stitches had been fresh in his leg the night he received her. He’d finished one bottle of whiskey, trying to ignore the throbbing in his leg (the throbbing that sounded like a heartbeat, like a mocking laugh). When he thought he saw red light shining through his skin, moving from one end of his scar to the other, he’d started on another bottle. He’d told himself he was imagining things. He’d pass out, wake up, and the red light would be gone, leaving nothing but a hangover in its place. He was sure of it.

When Jeremiah had woken up hours later, blood had pooled around his chair and into his right shoe. His leg had felt like it was on fire, and his bloodied battle dagger was in his fist.

The doctors had been right about one thing. The shrapnel had been too deep to cut out.

He first went to Hestia’s temple of sobriety to appease the V.A. docs. He’d accepted the little carving and figured he’d stay sober until his stitches came out. Once healed, he’d been on his way to give the figure back to the temple and celebrate with a fresh fifth when he had run into Bill Adama.

He ended up keeping the figure of Hestia. He had kept it for ten years, seven months, and six days. If he didn’t get drunk today, he’d add another day to the count.

_Dedication to duty, discipline, acceptance, service to others._

He put on his black jacket and his bright-polished shoes, gave his reflection an approving nod, and headed off to work.

Adar was holding a Cabinet meeting this afternoon, but the preparations would begin as soon as Jeremiah and the others arrived. By afternoon, the room would be spotless: drapes drawn an exact twenty-four inches apart, flags of the Twelve Colonies hanging straight, free of stray strings and dust, the antique pre-war mantle clock wound and running. Coffee cups and water glasses would be set at each attendee’s place, huge silver coffee urn and pitchers of ice water at the ready on a long, narrow table at the back of the room.

Once security swept the room for bugs and bombs, Jeremiah and the other Presidential Residence waitstaff would take their places beside the narrow table, fading into the background. Invisible, until it was time to serve.

His fingers played over the figure of Hestia, then the small cell phone set on “vibrate” as he arrived and walked up the staff stairs.

He was ready to serve.

He was battle-ready.

 

###############

 

Laura examined herself in the mirror: hair falling in sedate waves around her face, modest makeup, just enough to look polished. A mid-weight necklace, not too delicate but not one of her power pieces, lay centered just below the hollow of her throat. The one-inch gold hoops in her earlobes were half-hidden under her hair.

Laura frowned, considering, and tugged the earrings off, substituting a small pair of golden owl-face earrings. It felt like a day that could use a touch of Athena’s wisdom.

She looked over her dressing table and picked up a small bottle of perfume, the label faded and worn. A quick sniff told her the jasmine and ginger scent was still good. She breathed deeply and thought of summer days years ago. She touched the stopper to her throat and wrists, and wondered if Richard would notice the unusual fragrance, so different from what she wore to work.

Her white blouse wrapped across her breasts high enough to conceal all but a hint of cleavage. She smiled at her reflection. She’d have a chance to adjust her neckline before the meeting. For now, it would do. She sat at her dresser and began working tan pantyhose over her feet and legs.

_If she did get fired after today’s meeting, at least she’d be free of this annoying ritual._

She stepped into her dark rose skirt, pulled up the zipper, and slipped her feet into her polished black pumps. A last glance at the mirror told her she was as ready as she’d ever be. At the last minute before walking out of her room, she turned back to her dresser and pulled out her butterfly scarf, Bill’s words of warning from last night still in her ears.

_Don’t come to the garage in your state sedan._

She headed down the stairs. A glance towards the living room told her she was only being half-guarded at the moment: Lee was slouched in the middle of the leather couch, her father’s _History of the Cylon War: Caprica_ in one hand. His other hand was on Kara’s shoulder as she lay asleep, her head in his lap. One of the guest blankets had been placed over her and pulled up over her shoulders. Laura realized it was the most relaxed she’d seen the young woman’s face since she met her. Asleep, she looked younger, not as hard.

Laura caught Lee’s eye and made a “stay put” gesture. He shook his head and gently shifted Kara until he could move out from under her, slipping a pillow under her cheek. She murmured something in her sleep, her lips curving up as she curled into the pillow. Lee motioned towards the kitchen, walking ahead of Laura.

She would have been unsurprised at signs they had spent their night fighting. Or frakking. Or just staying away from each other, one of them holed up in the guest room. She hadn’t expected this gentle togetherness.

“Is she okay?” she asked.

Lee’s casual shrug was marred by his sheepish expression. “She has a problem with nightmares.”

Laura gave him a sympathetic nod. “Are they about Zak?”

“Sometimes. The bad ones are about other stuff, though. Like being a little kid, being hurt.”

“Memories?” she asked as she started a pot of coffee.

“Yeah, from what I can make out. She doesn’t talk about it when she’s awake.”

“More of that ‘not being easy’ thing you talked about last night, sounds like.” She turned away to get cups down from the cupboard.

“Yeah…I guess you can get used to it, though.” He cocked his head and gave her a thoughtful look. “It not being easy, I mean. Like you and Dad. Man, there was a time I thought…well, I’ll say it like this: I was surprised you and him never hooked up, after he got out of the joint.”

“A lot of things happened back then, Lee. Things became…complicated.” She flashed on the memory of tears staining her cheeks as she told a haunted-looking Bill Adama not to ever contact her again. Her stomach clenched against her first swallow of coffee.

“Speaking of complicated…I need to ask you a favor.” She began outlining the idea that had just started forming in her head.

 

###################

 

Lee wiped his hands on the rag Kara handed him, then slammed the hood shut, giving Laura a satisfied nod.

“That should do the trick. It should take about fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks, Lee. You too, Kara.”

“If you want to really thank me, let me take your baby out for a spin sometime.” Kara grinned down at the sparkling green hood, one cheek smeared with a streak of motor oil. Her face had lost that vulnerability she’d had while she slept, a look of tough confidence taking its place. It fit her better, Laura thought.

Laura’s heart was starting to skitter with nerves. “Maybe when things settle down…” She bit her lip. She wasn’t sure what “settled down” would even look like after today. “Bill has a spare set of keys. I’ll tell him it’s fine.”

“Thanks. We’ll get the house shut up for you, if you want to head on out,” Lee said.

Laura nodded as she checked her watch. Enough time, barely, to go see Bill, come back, pick up her sedan, and head back to the city. She told herself it wouldn’t be her last chance to see him, even while that scenario kept looming in her imagination. She would not be arrested, or otherwise harmed for speaking out...she just wouldn’t.

Maybe if she kept telling herself that, she’d start believing it.

 “Okay,” she said with a firm nod. “Lee, just get my keys to your father later on.” She opened the car door.

“Ms. R, aren’t you gonna need your house keys? I can—“

“Give them to your father, Lee. I’ll deal with getting them back… _later_.”

She felt bad for snapping at him as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She was being unfair—he didn’t know what her day held. She carefully placed her briefcase next to the driver’s seat. In another eight hours, it would all be over, one way of another. She adjusted the seat, then threw the scarf over her hair, knotting it firmly under her chin. Sliding her oversized sunglasses into place, she glanced into the mirror. She hoped it would be enough. And even if she were recognized, now she’d have a plausible excuse.

At least, she hoped she would.

 

################

 

Laura’s eyes went from the road to the hood of her car more frequently with every mile she drove. Palms damp on the wheel, she began to think Lee had miscalculated. Two miles from the Adama garage, she began trying to figure out if she had time to drive around the block once or twice, waiting on…

_Finally!_

She gave a relieved smile as the first tendrils she’d been looking for began to curl up in front of her. White at first, the smoke changed quickly to an oily grey, thick and pungent enough to smell even with the windows closed. One more mile, and she was at the gates of _Adama Automotive Repair_ , dark puffs rolling out from under the hood. She pulled up to the cinderblock building, gaze locked on the familiar figure by the door. His back was turned towards her as he unpacked the saddlebags on his bike.

His sleeveless tee shirt left his arms bare under his leather cut. His history was inked into his flesh, and she could feel her core begin to melt as she stared at the “ **L** ” placed prominently on his arm. His biceps bulged as he wrestled the huge Harley into position in the parking space. He looked like he hadn’t shaved today, and his hair was wildly tousled from his helmet and the strong breeze blowing through the yard.

_He was beautiful_. Just looking at him made her want to do reckless, foolish things, take any risks, if it meant she could touch him, feel him one more time.

Just in case.

He finished with what he was doing and turned towards her, his eyes wide with surprise and delight for a second before worry clouded them. Worry or not, he couldn’t keep the smile from his lips, and when their eyes met, she knew she’d done the right thing, if not the smart thing. She could sense his wanting across the space that separated them, sensed that he wanted to come to her, hold her….

She opened the door and swung her legs out, her skirt pulling up to reveal the long, shapely legs he adored. Her pulse began throbbing in her veins. She could already feel his hips between her thighs, knew how it would feel when she wrapped her legs around him. Maybe his office--

Two men she didn’t know came out of the garage behind Bill. She watched as he cut his eyes at them, then looked back at her. He made his smile less hungry, and his tone was the casual, friendly tone of the neighborhood mechanic when he spoke.

“Hey, Laura. Your ride need work?”

She straightened as she stood beside the Mustang, giving him a rueful grin with a touch of hard-ass around the edges. She shot a glance towards the others, then looked back at him.

“Yeah.”  



	45. Private Moments, Stolen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We need to talk privately. Is there somewhere we can go?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The drabble that grew into "Private Moments, Stolen" was "If Only He'd Known," originally written 01-12-2012:_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> He was just going to fix her car. He wasn’t planning to turn too quickly and run into her following too close. He would have cleaned up, gotten a shower, put on clothes with no rips, if he’d known. He’d have taken her out: dinner, wine, apartment, a decent bed. 
> 
> If he’d known, he’d have ensured they had privacy, time to talk about the old days, had some laughs. But she’d been too close behind him, smelling like she used to, and the gritty bathroom in back had a lock on the door. And when they kissed, she’d turned it.
> 
> *******************************************************
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _...what really happened that day..._

Bill scanned the interior of his garage, past the bays holding three cars, one truck, and a partially rebuilt bike, until he spotted the man he wanted.

“Helo!” he called.

The affable mechanic rolled out from under the car nearest the open door. “Right here, boss.”

“Come over here a minute.”

Bill stood a few feet from Laura, his gaze returning to her while he waited for Helo. She was almost glowing in the late morning sun, hair coppery and going a bit wild as soon as she pulled off her scarf. He could tell she was fighting a smile at seeing him, striving to look like a woman with places to be, suddenly sidelined with car trouble.

He was having a fight of his own. He didn’t want her here, exposed to unfriendly eyes, establishing a link between them that might come back to bite her later. She’d been through some hard times already because of him.

But gods, it was so good to see her again. It felt like years since he’d held her, since he’d pressed his lips to her heated skin. It was torture to see her this way, his crew and gods knew who else watching, keeping him from reaching for her.

Helo strode over to the smoking car and stood next to Bill, giving Laura a polite nod. “What do we have here?”

“It started smoking like this a couple of miles from here. I don’t know what’s wrong.” Her tone was worried but Bill could see her eyes dancing. He had been surprised to hear from Lee that this had been her idea, but had to admit it made a decent cover.

“It’s a beauty. It’s been here before, right?” He turned to Bill. “You usually work on this one, don’t you?”

“Yeah, ever since I restored it the first time. But I think you can handle this.” He pulled Helo aside, turning both of them away from the street beyond the gates.

“Put it in bay four and close the doors. Pop the hood, then kill some time before cleaning the oil off the engine block.”

Helo glanced at the car, then at Laura, finally meeting Bill’s eyes again. “How long do you want it to take?”

“Don’t know yet. Lay some tools around and throw a little oil underneath. I’ll come get you when she’s ready to go.”

Laura handed Helo the keys and stood there, waiting.

“Come on inside, Ms. Roslin. Want some coffee while you wait?” Bill’s voice was louder as he turned back to her.

“That’d be great.” He could swear her eyes were a deeper shade of green as he reached towards her from reflex. She bit her lip and shifted away, throwing a look back at the open gates. He caught himself and let his hand hover over the small of her back as they turned to walk towards the office.

“You shouldn’t have come.” His mouth barely moved as they walked across the asphalt.

“Do you wish I wasn’t here?” Her soft tones matched his.

“I didn’t say that.” He turned slightly and her clouded expression had him regretting his words as soon as he said them. “You’re cutting things close…I don’t want you to be under any more scrutiny than you already are.”

“I’ll be fine.” Her chin had that "I've got this" jut he remembered from days gone by.

The brass bell jingled as he opened the door for her. There was no one in the cluttered office, but with the expanse of plate glass windows, he couldn’t help but feel they were under the eyes of others. Laura’s frown as she surveyed the space told him she had the same thoughts.

 “We need to talk privately. Is there somewhere we can go?” she asked.

He was aching to take her back to his crash room at the back of the club, but the thought of bringing her through the club, what she’d think of the crew…what he’d need to explain…there was no time for that now.

He examined her features, trying to read the right thing to do in her eyes. She was almost serene on the surface, as cool as he knew she would be when she met with the Cabinet. Underneath, he could sense a fine-tuned tension humming, eager to be let loose before it red-lined.

“Right through there.”

He opened the door to a short hallway leading back to the club. The only truly private space he could give her right now was the shop bathroom. A flush of embarrassment crept up his neck. She deserved better. Then the scent of her perfume, sweet and spicy and smelling of past summers, hit him as she walked past. Her hip swayed deliberately against him in that moment, and he stopped caring about where they went, as long as it had a door that locked.

He looked down. Her hand was already on the doorknob.  
.

######

.

The door had barely swung shut when he gave in to what he’d wanted to do as soon as he saw her pull up in the parking lot. What he’d wanted to do for weeks.

She was in his arms and he was running his hands under her long jacket, grabbing her ass and pulling her tight against him. Her hands threaded through his hair, bringing his mouth down to hers. Her back slammed against the closed door as they both let their need for each other, for this moment, wash over them. Her tension came out through her aggressive movements, her tongue demanding his, her teeth rasping against his bottom lip.

A flash of his own need made him bring one hand up to her face, to hold her still and take his time exploring her mouth. He opened his eyes at her gasp as she caught his wrist.

“Your hands--”

He groaned. The traces of engine grease on his fingers told him he’d almost certainly left marks on her skirt. He felt her other hand reach back behind her and touch his hand that still rested high up on her ass.

She gave him a lopsided grin. “Okay, my jacket should cover that. I just have to remember to keep it on.” She glanced at her watch, then the sink behind him. His embarrassment gave way to a hot streak of hunger as he watched her turn the door’s lock. Her eyes were hooded and her color was high in her cheeks as she nodded towards the sink.

“Wash up, Bill.”

He gave her a quick kiss then stepped over to the counter. He could hear a faint rustling over the running water. When he turned back, Laura’s white blouse and rose jacket were hanging from the hook on the back of the door. His mouth went dry at the sight before him.

Her breasts rose out of the beige bra, smooth as cream scattered with a faint dusting of freckles. Even in the harsh fluorescent light, even in a bra clearly meant for practicality, the sight of her like this made him ache. Laura took his hands in hers, smiled at their cleanliness, then dropped a soft kiss into his palm.

“I needed you so much, Bill. I needed to feel this,” she said as she brought his hand against her breast. Her nipple pebbled against his palm under the layers of fabric. A faint rosy flush was tinting her skin, and he was humbled and aroused at her response to his touch.

He moved closer, his arms circling her back as he unfastened the hooks of her bra. He could feel her shudder against him as he slid it down her arms to hang with the rest of her clothes. She reached for him again, her full breasts pressing hard against his leather cut. He groaned as he bent to kiss her, his hand working between them, cupping, kneading the lush flesh. Her nipple stiffened hard under his fingers as he wrapped his other hand in her hair. Her mouth was hot and yielding for a second before she pulled back.

“Get this off,” she said, pulling at his shirt. “I want—I _need_ to feel you.” She tugged his shirt out of his jeans and ran her hands underneath, flattening them against his skin.

“Laura—we both know this is crazy,” he said, even as he shrugged off his cut, tossing it on the counter before yanking the shirt over his head.

“It is, but you’re not going to stop, are you?” She stood with her back against the door, biting the corner of her lip as she devoured him with her eyes, sweeping them down to the clearly outlined shape straining against the faded denim.

“Gods, no.” He drank in the sight of her, auburn hair spilling over her shoulders, teasing the tops of her ivory breasts. Her professional pumps and suit skirt were an unexpectedly erotic contrast to her naked flesh. A flash of guilt pricked at him. He should he laying her down in a soft wide bed, giving her the time and attention she deserved, not a hurried frantic frak in a gritty bathroom.

Then her hands were pulling at the back of his neck and his lips were closing over a taut pink nipple as she trembled and gasped, and his guilt was blasted away by his need. He cupped her ass under her hiked-up skirt and pulled her close again. She had one nylon-clad leg wrapped around his hip when he felt the thin fibers begin to shred. At his warning, Laura moved away long enough to step out of her pumps and yank the stockings off, leaving her legs and feet charmingly bare.

A fumbling turn and a couple of steps brought them up against the counter, Laura’s fingers working his belt open as he tugged her panties down her thighs. Her hips shimmied a couple of times and the slip of fabric fell to the floor. He wanted to tease the sensitive flesh between her legs, drawing out the gentle glide of his fingers, but the evidence of her arousal was too lush and fragrant for him to go slow.

“Yes, there…mm, that’s—oh Gods—” she hummed, then gasped against his neck as he plunged two slick fingers into her welcoming heat. With one shaking hand, she reached down and circled his cock. Her movements were rough and needy, grinding her clit against the heel of his hand as she stroked his length.

“Easy, baby, I don’t want—” he cautioned as she released him to shove his jeans and shorts down. His cock sprung free and rubbed against her inner thigh as his fingers worked inside her. She cupped his balls lightly, then brought her hand to his ass, gripping hard until her fingernails bit into his skin.

The dingy bathroom, the world waiting for them outside, everything else fell away as he let himself revel in this one perfect moment. Her breath was warm and heavy against his cheek. She was past coherent speech now, all soft gasps and whispered “ _yesses”_ and “ _pleases”_ in his ear.

His pre-cum mixed with the juices he was coaxing from her, the friction between cock and fingers and swollen folds sending waves of pleasure up and down his spine. His heart began to beat in harmony with the song of her inner pulse.

“Laura…” he said in a passion-thick voice, his question implied.

“Almost…wait,” she whispered at his ear.“There…right there…”

Her breath hitched as his thumb replaced the heel of his hand, swirling and pressing against her clit, his fingers curling and thrusting against her tightening walls. Bill closed his eyes for a moment, losing himself in the sensations of wet heat and the thrumming he felt deep inside her. His cock twitched hard and he opened his eyes again.

Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her quickening breath coming faster though her half-parted lips. Her hips worked with his hand in a building rhythm, her legs trembling against his.

 “Let go, baby. Laura, c’mon, sweetheart,” he urged.

A last firm stroke, and she was arching her back, eyes wide and fingers digging into his back. She bit her lip, trying to stifle her keening, a mix of his name and the Gods, over and over as she flew apart against him.

The hot fluid of her release bathed his hand and cock and it was his turn to bite his lip as he battled for restraint. His cock was slick against her folds as he held her against him, rocking, waiting.

“Gods, Bill, _now_ …” She reached for him. A surge of raw power mixed with love and lust made his head swim. She had looked like a goddess when she came, hair cascading half-over her face, skin flushed a deep glowing pink, breasts swaying with her frantic movements.

_She was beautiful._ And she wanted _him,_ just as he was, rough and hard and gritty, and loving her with everything he had.

Her eyes met his, and he knew she was feeling the same thing, needy and wanting and so much desperate love. Her gaze was almost challenging as she uttered a low “Take me, Bill. Frak—“

They shared a hungry kiss spiced with adrenalin and risk, their hands grasping, offering and accepting everything each other had to give. He held her hips as she wrapped one leg around his waist, and in one long, deep thrust his cock was fully enveloped in her clenching sex. He braced her against the counter’s edge, gripping her flesh so hard he knew he was marking her, and that thought stiffened him even more.

She met every thrust, arching and matching his movements for a few seconds, her fingernails abrading his shoulders...then suddenly stopped.

“Bill, the counter edge…my back.” She clung to him, breathing hard, and brought his hand back to the metal trim that was biting into her skin. He groaned into her hair as he stroked the reddened area. _He'd been so close_...his selfish thought made his face flame.

She moved against him, drawing him deep and making him groan. "Don't stop...just need to--"

“Turn around.” His voice sounded gruff and coarse to his ears as he pulled himself from her sex. There was fire in her gaze as she gave him an appraising look and a slow nod of agreement. Lips curved in a wicked smile, she moved to slip her feet into her discarded pumps.

His heart almost stopped when she turned and bent over the sink’s counter, waist dipped low and her body at the perfect height. Long sculpted legs went on and on, starting with the black high heeled pumps and ending at the plump glistening folds nestled below the rounded cheeks of her luscious ass. Her skirt was bunched up around her waist, framing her exposed flesh in rich dark rose. She tossed her hair out of her face and looked back at him, bracing herself against the sink and biting her lip in anticipation. Her voice was a soft, seductive hum.

“Bill? I’m ready."

_Sweet Aphrodite, so was he._

Sliding back inside her felt like coming home.

His hips rolled in a slow, measured start, building in intensity as she pushed back, twisting against him. Her exhortations issued through gritted teeth inflamed his senses, her sharp, short words spurring him on to heights he hadn’t known existed.

He drove into her again and again, his hips rocking, then slamming against her, his urge to come battling with his desire to make it last. He watched, blood pounding in his temples as she reached down and used her own hand to send herself over the edge a second time, her legs shaking and her walls gripping him tight. She snaked her hand back to encircle his wrist as he dug his fingers into her hips, pulling her back against him.

His thrusts turned frenetic and barely controlled. He pressed his mouth against her shuddering back and tried to suppress his guttural roar as he came, groaning “Laura” against her skin like a prayer of thanksgiving. Stroking her hip where he’d left red marks, he ran his fingers down the backs of her thighs until she shivered, then relaxed under him. His cock slowly slipped out of her heat as he breathed a sigh of perfect contentment.

The moment lasted until Laura caught her breath. His heart broke a little when she shifted enough to look at her watch. He moved away as she straightened to face him.

“Bill, I…” She put her arms around him and gave him a gentle kiss on his lips, unexpectedly chaste and sweet. She rested her head on his shoulder and they stood together for a few heartbeats, a satisfied mess of shoved-down jeans and hiked-up skirt, skin marked and wet-streaked with signs of their rough, passionate coupling.

“I love you, Laura.” He pulled away slightly, looking into her eyes almost level with his, and waited, hoping maybe this time…

“I love you too, Bill.” Her eyes shone with emotion, strong and sure.

His heart swelled as he realized his hopes were finally answered. He’d waited so long for this, to hear her say the words. It was sweeter, far sweeter than he’d imagined. The situation was ridiculous, and dirty, and a bad joke, frantic frakking in a public bathroom. It was ill-suited to their age, her position.

It was still perfect.

He loved her. She loved him. The words finally came together for them both. Whatever else happened today, they had this. They would always have this.

No matter how it might look to anyone else, what they had _was_ perfect. The words they’d finally said to each other were a fistful of dark red roses, pushing up through cracked and broken asphalt in a forgotten, abandoned lot.

Not expected. Not practical, or easy, or safe. But still…

_Perfect._

They began cleaning up. They both had a lot to do before this day was done.

 

*************************************

_A/N: The drabbles are out of order (this is the 3rd drabble in the early set)  to maintain the current chapter's continuity.  
_


	46. Danger Zone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is based on the drabble "Running Late."
> 
>  
> 
> _Running Late_
> 
>  
> 
> _Her color was high; she’d been walk-running in heels for two blocks. Adar’s cold shoulder would be waiting when she slunk into the meeting, red hair sleeked neatly in front, a few strands still wildly tousled in the back where she hadn’t been able to see in the cracked mirror. She’d cursed and yanked off her stockings at a stoplight when she noticed the runs. The breeze hitting the wet spots on her panties made her wish her skirt was longer. Grabbing the door, she steadied herself. At least her long jacket covered the mechanic’s smudged fingerprints on her skirt._
> 
>  
> 
> ******************************************************

  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

The air was heavy and thick, threatening rain before the day was over. Laura could feel the humidity encouraging her hair to abandon the semblance of neatness she’d managed in front of the cracked bathroom mirror. His scent still lingered on her skin, her clothes…a sex muskiness blended with metal and oil. The window rolled down in sticky jumps as she turned the hand crank, letting the rushing air work at scouring his scent off her body.

The clock on the shop office wall had surprised them both, having leapt forward almost a half hour while they’d been in the gritty bathroom. She had just wanted to see him, touch him, before going into the meeting that had her stomach tied in knots.  
  
Their hunger had been overwhelming, though…and when she thought of their final words of love that she’d struggled to say for so long, she couldn’t regret a second. It felt right to be going into this knowing that they’d said what they needed to say to each other.

The vintage Mustang growled at the stop light, rumbling in a way her state sedan never did. The focus she needed to manage the muscle car was a welcome distraction. Part of her was secretly glad she hadn’t had enough time to go back to her house and pick up her more sedate ride. Shifting the gears made her feel strong and in control…welcome feelings as the clock ticked closer to her meeting. The long open stretches of highway gave her time and space to rehearse what she’d say, how she’d start.

“Godsdamnit!” she swore as she felt the unmistakable crawling, itchy feeling starting up the side of her leg, traveling quickly past her thigh. She didn’t bother looking down. She could tell the run was wide and glaring, announcing she’d had an eventful morning.  
  
A second stop light gave her the seconds she needed to throw the car into “park” and reach under her skirt to yank off the ruined stockings. Her bare feet had just slid back into her pumps when the light turned green.

_Looks like rain this afternoon._ She watched the skyline of Caprica City loom larger and larger in front of her. It looked foreign, alien to her today. She imagined Bill in the seat beside her, where her leather briefcase now lay. She could almost feel his steadying presence, and was as grateful for it as she’d been on that icy evening when she was seventeen.

_I can do this._   
  


 

***********************

 

A short, squat man with the look of a bulldog fingered the cell phone nervously as he waited for an answer. The clipped tone finally sounded again in his ear.

“Don’t do anything unless the subject starts to address her findings. She’ll be nervous, and will be speaking from notes in a folder, I expect. You’ll need to speak up, evidence in hand before she gets to the meat of it.”

Sprinklings of anxious sweat beaded at his hairline. “What about Adar?”

“Start off with your regrets it had to come out this way. Cite national security and ask him to clear the room of non-essential members.”

“What’s she going to be doing? I mean, she’s going to start protesting as soon as I open my mouth.”

“That’s what the secret service agents are there for. They’ll shut her down while you’re showing the evidence to Adar. She’ll be out of the room on her way to a holding cell before he wraps his head around what you’re showing him.”

The split-second timing facing him made the man twitch. It had sounded easier in his briefing.

“You sure it’ll be convincing?”

“The doctor will be standing by to bring you more evidence if you need it. It’ll be too much for Adar to ignore.”

“I hope you’re right.” He clicked the phone shut and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. Wiping his brow, he went over the steps again in his mind. A glance at his clock told him to hurry up. He checked the knot in his tie one more time and started his walk to the capitol building.

 

****************

 

“I’ve got it, boss.” Gaeta hung up and gestured towards the heavy open doors of the Outlaw’s church, a couple of pages of notes gripped tight in his hand. Bill caught Saul’s attention and motioned him to join them.

“Go,” he said in a clipped, cold voice.

Gaeta remained standing as he smoothed out the notes. “It’s the under-secretary of Defense. He’s got evidence showing that Secretary Roslin used her security codes, without proper authorization, to get into the main system.”

Bill’s lips tightened. “How?”

“Our friend thinks that Dr. Baltar picked up on her IP digging into all the main databases, into the budget and finance sections.”

“She said she never used the agency system.”

Gaeta lifted his hands, open-palmed and helpless. “I’m guessing Baltar designed extra security layers that her personal wi-fi set off, and that led them to her. But he’s added some false data to that.”

Under the table, Bill’s hands drew into white-knuckled fists. “Like what?”

“Our source says someone present will have evidence that she let others hack into the defense mainframe using the access she had.”

“Holy frak, that’s treason!” Saul blurted.

“It looks like they’ll spring this on the cabinet meeting if she starts talking about the funds diversion to unusual military spending.” Gaeta’s eyes slid away from Bill and focused on the set of colonial flags on the wall behind him. “They’ll use the excuse that they didn’t want to speak prematurely, due to Roslin’s connection with the president, but her disruptive actions forced their hand.”

“Leaving Adar with no choice, if they start citing Colonial security.” Bill wouldn’t let himself think about that connection remark. Not right now. His mind was filled with images of armed secret service agents ushering Laura out of the room, the building, to some undisclosed location.

_Not on my watch._

“Make the call.”

Bill’s eyes watched the clock inch towards one o’clock. He could feel each jerk of the red second hand in his chest as he watched Gaeta punch in Jeremiah’s number.

  
  
  
  
******************  
  
  


 

 

Even if she didn’t already know there was a Cabinet meeting today, the scant parking places would have tipped her off. Laura circled the block again, rummaging through her purse one more time to confirm she’d left her parking pass on the dash of her sedan. A sleek late-model luxury car pulled out in front of her, the driver flashing an off-handed wave as she stopped and waited. Finally maneuvering the sports car into the narrow space, Laura turned the engine off with a relieved sigh, cut short when she glanced at the dash clock again.

Ten minutes.

She bent and shoved her ruined stockings under the front seat, then straightened again, running her fingers through her hair and pushing it off her face. Ignoring the clock’s hands for a second, she took a couple of centering breaths, mentally said a quick prayer for guidance, and gathered her briefcase.

The pavement felt a touch unsteady under the soles of her shoes, like something was beginning to grunt itself awake below the surface. She could hear her father’s voice, firm and confident across the years.  _Shake it off, Laura._ Her reflection in the car window showed a calm she didn’t feel.

The side mirror told her the faint smudges Bill had left on the back of her skirt were covered by her jacket. She set off for the capitol building two blocks away, trying not to notice the chill when the cool air tugged at her still-damp underwear.  
  
Better to focus on the blister she could feel forming on her right heel as she almost race-walked down the sidewalk. The physical touch points grounded her as the words she’d prepared to speak ran through her mind, swirling and reforming, becoming slippery, translucent, then solid again.

Maybe she shouldn’t have gone by Bill’s garage before the meeting. Even as that thought flashed, she knew she wouldn’t have missed it. She had needed that contact, still needed it, to get through this.  
  
He was the unwavering rock she could press her back against, trusting she was shielded from at least one angle. The faces of others on the sidewalk blurred into one human image as she strode past, the words in her head beginning to slow their churning and fall into order.

The marble columns of the gleaming white building loomed in front of her before she realized it. She suddenly wished she hadn’t walked quite so fast. The gleaming white exterior turned gray and dingy as clouds passed by overhead, heavy and dark with threatened rain. Ignoring the twisting in her chest, Laura nodded to the staffers she encountered, slowing her feet to a more measured pace as she went up the wide steps.

By the time she passed through security, her breathing was almost normal again, and her steps were steady as she walked down the granite-walled hall to the dark mahogany open doors of the Cabinet Room. The President’s chair was designed to be a couple of inches higher than the rest. It seemed even larger today, and looked far, far away, the table stretching before her like a racetrack.

Department officials were chatting in groups, no one looking like they wanted to be the first to take a seat. She greeted the Secretary of Health and Human Services, nodded across the room to the Secretary of Transportation, then grew still as her eyes were drawn to the huge painting over the marble mantel.  
  
 _The First Cylon War._ The faces of the Colonial soldiers looked more vivid today: a young man, mouth twisted in a rictus of pain as he fell, the raised fist of an expressionless Cylon, flames all around, leaping, waving as the city burned.

 

_How could anyone see that image and be willing to open that Pandora’s box of horrors again?_

She watched the men and women milling around the room in expensive suits and designer shoes, passing under the painting like it had faded into the wallpaper years ago.

Like it was nothing.

For the first time in a very long time, she felt like she didn’t belong here. Like she didn’t want to belong here. Not anymore. Her grip tightened on her briefcase strap as she found her seat, the neatly engraved “Roslin” nameplate shining against the burgundy leather back. Tapping the pads of her fingers against the empty glass emblazoned with the Presidential seal in front of her, she waited for Adar to finish his side discussion and take his seat.  


 

  
*********  
  


 

Adar’s pat words of greeting flowed over her, familiar enough so she could smile and nod at the right moments without thinking. She’d written most of it, blending things she’d said on first school days years ago with generalized statements of good will and teamwork. He’d long since discarded his need to rehearse speeches with her…maybe that duty--as well as more private ones--had fallen to his new aide.

The beginning smirk at that thought died as her eyes fell on the representative from the Department of Defense. The face was unfamiliar, but there was something she recognized in his expression—the alert, smug look of a predator calculating the different ways to take down his prey. She pulled her stack of folders from her briefcase and placed them in a neat, tidy pile in front of her. It felt like the green folder on top was radiating its own heat over the mundane manila ones beneath it.

Adar was finishing when a movement to her far left caught her eye. One of the service staff had come back in the room from a back hallway. She heard the faint chiming clink of ice cubes as the polite clapping and subdued chatter met Adar’s closing remarks.  
  
Mouth suddenly sticky and dry, she was grateful for the polished, expressionless men bringing frosty steel pitchers of ice water to the table’s empty glasses. The Secretary of Agriculture would speak next, and then she’d have the floor. A sharp cramp ran through her belly.

_Shake it off, Laura._

She’d start with the children of the Twelve Colonies, she ‘d decided, lay out some concerns regarding the proposed budget cuts, say a few words about youth, the future…get them nodding in agreement. And then, she’d start laying out a different set of concerns, backed with her evidence , showing how tenuous that future had become.  
  
She’d focus on the Health and Human Services Secretary first, a natural ally, she hoped. She was visualizing whose eyes she’d meet, whose she would avoid, when she sensed a presence at her shoulder.

_Thank Gods._ She could already taste the icy water, could feel how it would loosen her tight throat and wash the sticky film from her tongue. A dark hand, wrist framed by a sharp white cuff picked up the empty glass in front of her. She glanced up, a smile of gratitude flicking across her lips. _Barksdale._ One of the staff who’d never given her a subtle side-eye on seeing her leave Adar’s office. Her smile was met by a look more shuttered than she remembered.

The ice rattled appealingly, echoed by the other staff filling the others’ glasses, all stopping a half-inch below the rim of the napkin-wrapped tumblers before placing them in front of each attendee. A polite “Thank you” was on her lips when she realized his pour continued.

_That’s going to—_

The water splashed over the rim and onto the table in front of her, a thin chill rivulet running off the polished wood and into her lap.

“I’m so sorry, Secretary Roslin,” he said quietly, setting the pitcher down and pulling the white serving napkin off his arm. He stopped the flow with an edge of the cloth, then bent to offer her the dry end for her skirt. She was starting to dab at the water spots when she realized he was at her ear.

“Don’t do it.”

Her hand froze in place.  _Bill had said_ … Her thought hung there, unfinished, as the man tugged the napkin from her fingers and dabbed at the green folder on top of her stack, although not a drop had splashed in that direction.

The chatter around her seemed to be coming from the other side of a bubble that held her and this somber, black-suited man. His eyes met hers for a second and she realized for the first time he was Bill’s age. Something showed in his gaze for just that second, and she knew he’d been a soldier once.

He’d been in that painting over the mantle everyone here seemed to be ignoring, or a scene just like it.

If she stopped now, would she be letting down the men who had fought and died in the last war? She glanced up at the painting again. Decades of sunlight had faded the sepia oils. There’d be no vintage color scheme, no artist’s composition in real life next time...just blood and bone, burnt flesh and grey ashes, if anyone was left to tell the story at all.

_Trust me._  Bill had guided her through danger before, and she’d put her instincts aside to work with him, her hands on the wheel, her foot on the pedal an extension of his experience. She’d known her car. He’d known the conditions of the icy road.

She knew the responsibility, the duty of politics. He knew the conditions she was steering into. She wanted to keep driving on, right through the lies. Her heart shook with that want, the beat loud in her ears.

And he was steering her into the skid against her instincts.

_Trust me._ Or they’d end up twisted in the wreckage. Her, him, men like the old soldier standing at her side. And the black-ice truth would remain unseen, waiting, with no one to warn for it.

_Trust me._

She watched the man fold and drape the white serving napkin back over his forearm with military precision. His movements carried the finality of a mission completed.

“Thank you,” she said, raising her glass slightly in his direction before turning back to the speaker. She drained half the glass in one long shaky swallow, ice clicking against her teeth. She set it down and reached for the green folder, slipping it to the bottom of the stack. The chill of her drink spread through her stomach out to her bones, to her fingertips. Barksdale had taken up his post again by the long cloth-covered table at the back of the room.

The Secretary of Agriculture was winding down as Laura began mentally editing her report down to something firmly objecting to the budget cuts, then accepting their inevitability. Something that would be professional, in character, unthreatening.

And safe.

 


	47. Grapevines, Twisting Tight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is based on the short drabble, "Presidential Abstinence, " fully fleshed into a "rest of the story" chapter here
> 
> .  
> .  
>  _People say believe half of what you see, son, and none of what you hear._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Richard Adar shoved the report under more folders as she walked in. He let himself enjoy a glimpse of long legs under a short navy skirt, a lingering glance at red waves falling over the breast of her jacket. He looked past her eyes._
> 
> _“How’s your car, Laura?”_
> 
> _His tone was lethally casual as he watched her puzzled frown._
> 
> _“What are you talking about?”_
> 
> _His fingers toyed with the edge of the report as he met her eyes. He could almost feel the heat of her skin against his palms but steeled himself, keeping the desk between them._
> 
> _“Your vintage Mustang your Dad left you. I understand you had to go quite a bit out of your way to get it…serviced.”_
> 
> _Satisfaction battled with anger as he watched her cheeks begin to flush._
> 
> _“Your security detail was alarmed that you chose a convicted felon to work on your antique”—_
> 
> _Her professional poise still intact, she interrupted, “That was the closest garage when it started over-heating.”_
> 
> _—“vehicle, their alarm increasing when they lost sight of you for twenty-seven minutes.”_
> 
> _He pulled out the folder, opening it. “The Secretary of Education appeared distracted and somewhat disheveled upon exit, then proceeded to the scheduled Cabinet meeting.”_
> 
> _Her usually calm green eyes had gone icy. Where had his agreeable Laura gone, he wondered. Where’d this rebellious redhead come from?_
> 
> _“Richard, I’m done explaining myself to you. After all, I’m not your wife.”_
> 
> _He ignored the stabbing guilt as he rose, hands white-knuckled on the desk. “You’re not my anything, effective immediately. I feel suddenly abstentious, after reading this. Anything you need, get it from your hoodlum mechanic Adama.”_
> 
> _He thought he’d see regret, not a sensual smile as she said, “It’ll be my pleasure, Mr. President.” She turned gracefully, walking out of his life._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **And now, the rest of the story...**

The officer’s bulldog frown grew more pronounced as he gripped the cell phone, trying to answer the questions fired at him in bursts. He had ducked into a doorway off the main corridor, a sea of business suits and the occasional uniformed figure flowing on by, oblivious.

“I can send you the recording, but like I said, she gave a short speech about education funding, the kids of the Colonies, blah blah blah they’re our future, and that was it.”

“What about when you gave the report on the increased defense needs?”

The officer sighed, covering the phone’s mic first. This was the second time his superior had asked the question. It was like the man wanted to be told something had gone wrong.

“Some of the other departments had questions, but she didn’t say a word. She sure didn’t look like she had any concerns. She just wanted to get her stuff together and get out of there, is how it looked to me.”

He caught the faint sigh on the other end of the line. _Guess his boss wasn’t as careful as he was about not giving his feelings away._

Of course, maybe at that pay grade, he didn’t have to be.

“Okay, here’s what I want you to do. Is Adar still in the building?”

The officer looked down the hall. There was a knot of dark-suited men around the slightly taller president.

“Affirmative.”

He listened to his instructions, his occasional words of agreement at odds with his increasingly disgruntled look.

 

*****************

 

Richard didn’t have time for this. If the Secretary of Defense had concerns, he should have come to him in person, not sent a message through this underling. The requested five minutes of his time had stretched into ten and it was still a bunch of hints and suppositions from the lieutenant colonel.

“I recognize that Secretary Roslin has held strong opinions about cuts to her department, but if you’re suggesting she’s done anything inappropriate—“

“Mr. President, the fact that she accessed classified material without clearance suggests that she may have an agenda you don’t know about.”

“I’ll have security speak to her about that.” Richard glanced at the antique clock behind the officer. He’d lost almost a quarter of an hour to unfounded suspicions. He wondered what the man would say if Richard told him he knew Laura Roslin well enough to know she wouldn’t have kept any serious findings to herself. Her outspokenness had once been one of her most endearing qualities. She’d grown more political over the years, but if she really had concerns, surely she’d bring them to him. They hadn’t drifted that far apart.

“We understand that you put a great deal of trust in Secretary Roslin, Mr. President.” The officer shifted his gaze down to a black folder in his lap. Anxiety began to prickle at Richard’s temples. He suddenly wanted this meeting over, this man out of his office.

He wanted the black folder to stay closed.

The burly officer cleared his throat, seeming ill at ease as he opened the folder, turned it, and placed it in front of him. “Sir, I wish this could have been avoided.”

For a moment, the open folder, with its neatly typed report and its black and white photos, lay on the mahogany desk between them. Finally, Richard looked down at the names, the signatures. He let his gaze skip over the entries, at least for now.

“What’s a secret service report on one of my ministers doing in your possession, Colonel?”

“Secretary Roslin’s recent activities indicate she may be a risk to the Department of Defense, Mr. President. General Barton has the authority to—”

“I’m aware of what authority the general has.” Richard still made no move to draw the folder closer, although he could see out of the corner of his eye that the pictures were of Laura. Some had a male figure in them as well. For a second he thought it might be a shot of them, taken at a past clandestine meeting, but no. Even from a quick glance, he got the impression of bulk, of a posture that wasn’t his.

“And he’s over-stepping here,” he continued.

“Mr. President, with the nature of the report, and…your close relationship with Secretary Roslin, he felt it was too critical to be left up to the secret service to bring this to your attention.”

Richard felt himself bristling at the implication he’d put Colonial security at risk for personal reasons.

“That will be all, Colonel.” He flipped the folder closed and shoved it to one side. He sat at his oversized desk, dread and anger mixing together and coming to a slow boil as the officer rose and walked to the door.

Anger soon won out as he pulled the report in front of him again, opened it, and began to read.

As he read over every word, the suspicions evident between the lines in the dry account of time frames and observations, he realized he’d misjudged the woman who had been by his side for years. Even after he shifted his attention to his new aide, there was a part of him that considered Laura as his.

He wasn’t convinced that she’d betray the Colonies, the Colonial Defense. The threads of evidence in that regard were thin, tenuous at best. He still had confidence in his ability to evaluate professional and political risks.

His confidence in his ability to evaluate the personal, though, was shredded finer and finer with each page.

The typed words seemed to shimmer in front of him, bright and mocking.

And the words “Bill Adama” were the brightest of all, taunting him, suggesting that maybe Laura hadn’t been his after all. Not in a long time.

Maybe never.

 

********************************

 

_Something was about to happen, something significant. Something that would change everything._

Laura wasn’t sure what it was, but as she walked the hallways that should have felt as familiar as her own apartment, there was instead an odd detached feeling, a thin layer of icy otherness between her and the quick-walking aides and politicians.

Even her footsteps sounded different, a beat out of step with the click-click of high heels and the thud of leather-soled shoes. The brush of her shoes on the polished tile floor whispered “ _Stran—_ ger _, stran—_ ger” as she glanced at the faces around her. Who did she know here, really? After the years spent in government, in this building, who did she really know?

Not Jeremiah, the staff waiter and bearer of an outlaw’s instructions. Not the frowning, jowly officer who had stared a hole through her as she delivered her cover speech of education needs and budget cuts.

She had thought she still knew Richard, but the echo of her steps mocked her familiarity:

_"Stran—_ ger _, stran—_ ger _."_

She walked faster as she drew nearer to her office. Maybe it wasn’t the haven it had been in the past, but at least she could put the briefcase down, the briefcase that had seemed to grow heavier once she slipped the folder back inside. She could lock the door behind her for the few minutes of privacy she needed to run the contents through her shredder.

A faint whiff of musk and motor oil brushed her nostrils, reminding her of the tell-tale signs of Bill on the back of her skirt. Whether real or imaginary, the scent made her glad she’d kept a simple navy skirt and jacket in the back of her office coat closet.

The memory made her smile for a moment, before a sour, metallic taste flooded her mouth _. I’m just one person, and I’ve got no real idea what I’m up against._ Pausing at the door of her office, she swallowed hard a couple of times, willing her stomach to settle as she clenched her jaw.

“How was the meeting, Madam Secretary?” Laura’s assistant greeted her with a smile and a waiting handful of pink message slips.

“Long. Anything critical in there?” she said over her shoulder as she went to her inner office door.

“Nothing urgent.” The young woman followed her, raising one eyebrow when Laura turned and stood in the doorway, hand out for the slips. “And your mechanic called. He wanted to make sure you hadn’t had any more problems with your car.” She tilted her head and gave Laura half-smile. “Conscientious guy, huh?”

Laura searched her face for signs of double meanings, of hidden messages, before she realized what she was doing. Would she ever take anyone at face value again?

“Yes, he’s good at what he does.” Her lips quirked as the irony hit her. She was no one to judge…she’d asked for it, demanded a part in this hidden world, crafted her own scripts of lies and subterfuge. And even before she slipped into all the stomach-twisting decades-long deception, there was Richard…

_Richard._

“I’ve got to get some notes down about the meeting while they’re fresh in my head. Hold my calls for a while. I’ll buzz you when I’m available again.”

She slipped into her office and closed the door, turning the lock as softly as she could. She took a minute to shake out the slight wrinkles of the navy skirt hanging behind her raincoat.

Stepping into her bathroom, she tugged the pink skirt off, pausing a second to get a better look at the oil smudges he’d left. Three fingerprints and a thumb print high up on the hip. A shudder ran through her as she felt his hands again, gripping, pulling her back into him, straightforward and true.

Laura gave in to a few seconds’ respite from the day’s anxiety and let herself think about Bill as she crushed the pink skirt down to the bottom of her briefcase. She pictured him sitting by the phone in his office, listening for its ring over the clanging of tools against metal filtering in from the garage. He’d been with her in spirit, every step of the way.

A smile played over her lips as she zipped up the thin pencil skirt, imagining Bill giving in to the need to call and check on her. Surely Jeremiah had been able to reach him with some sort of…mission report, she guessed. But he’d needed more, needed to hear something directly from her.

_Soon._

She was almost finished with shredding the hard copies of her carefully collected evidence. The image of the flash drive at home gave her some comfort as weeks of research were chewed up and spat into the collection bin. The cross-cutting teeth soon rendered the once-explosive documents into fine confetti. The growl of the shredder had faded to a soft whine as the last of the sheets disappeared.

_Finally._

Her hand was on the burner phone when she heard the brisk knocking on her door. She frowned. If there was something so important that it couldn’t wait, her secretary should have buzzed her. She glanced down at the silver flip phone. The battery indicator flashed for a split second, then went dark.

She shoved the phone back into her purse with a sigh. She’d see what was so important, then risk a call from her office phone. It’d be enough for now, to tell him her car had done fine, and thank him for his good work. She smiled, thinking of his relieved response to her coded words.

Her smile faded as soon as she opened the door, and saw the two men in black suits waiting for her.

 

*****************

 

The streets looked more crowded today from his office high above Caprica CIty. Richard could barely see the sidewalk for the throngs of pedestrians going about their business in the capitol. His constituents, his responsibility. So many people…

They deserved a strong defense. Even if they weren’t all that willing to pay for it. The angry grumbles over budget cuts would be nothing compared to the howling he’d be hearing from the new tax hike. All those people…he imagined what the crowds, currently scurrying like ants feeding their nest, would look like marching on the capitol, on the Quorum.

Marching against him.

Hands stuck in his pockets, he rocked on his heels, running the words of the generals through his mind again, and wished he still believed in oracles—he could use one right now.

_Fire a shot over their bow. A little mutual saber-rattling._

Old clichés from old wars. The next war wouldn’t be cannons and swords. He tried to think of a similar axiom from the nuclear age for starting a little war. Nothing came to mind.

_I should ask Laura_ popped into his consciousness before he could stop it. He turned away from the window and saw the black folder again. What the hell had she been thinking? His hand balled into a fist, deep down in his pocket. What had he missed?

Images ran through his head, a slideshow on an endless loop.

The way she always curled away from him when she slept. The sense of restraint he’d never been able to break through. She’d never suggested he divorce his wife, never asked about the time he spent with his new aide, their private meetings and long lunches. He’d thought she was a naturally private person. Thought she was being mature, graciously accepting the changes between them.

He hoped he wasn’t as wrong about the military’s motives as he’d been about her.

His hand slowly loosened as he forced his fist open. A glance at his watch told him she’d be here any minute. He paced back and forth, gathering his words. A few steps brought him to the open door of his private inner office, the overstuffed couch triggering memories of less complicated days. He stopped for a second, seeing their last attempted encounter through the filter of new information.

Had they been together since that boy’s funeral, the weekend of her feigned migraine?

_Everything just feels…off._

He braced himself against the door frame as he remembered her words. Her excuses.

_My doctor told me to expect changes_.

For a space of a heartbeat, he wished she had rejected him over Tory, that she’d raged and thrown a vase, a glass, furious over his new lover.

Pulling back, he closed the door quietly. Laura had slipped out of this part of his life as coolly, as dispassionately as she’d entered it. He just hadn’t seen it for what it was.

Footsteps approached his office, muffled by the plush carpet of the presidential wing. He’d sent his office staff home early, the outer office empty except for his security detail. He rubbed the back of his neck, the skin there feeling flushed under his fingers. With a nod, he gestured for the guard to open the door.

She’d slipped out of one part of his life on her own. Time to excise Laura Roslin from the rest of it. From the rest of _him_. As he took his place behind his desk, he grabbed onto his anger, scrubbing away the faint but building grief centered in his chest.

_Liar._

_Faithless._

_Traitor._

The irony wasn’t lost on him that everything they had together was based on lies, had been since that first night, when he’d started crafting his excuses on his way home to his wife. This was different, though. The pictures, the reports in front of him showed the undeniable, unforgivable truth: she had chosen a common criminal, a hoodlum, over the President of the Twelve Colonies.

He watched her enter the room, flanked by security. She had a glow about her, an energy that enhanced her deep green eyes. Auburn waves tumbled over her shoulders, bright against the navy blue of her jacket. He knew they’d smell of her favorite jasmine-scented shampoo if he changed his mind and took her in his arms, if he buried his nose in those glossy curls.

His lips tightened as he forced himself to imagine the smell of another man on her, cheap aftershave and motor oil. She stopped a few feet from his desk, next to his display of the flags of the Twelve Colonies. Still poised after what should have been an unsettling summons and escort, she assumed what he secretly thought of as her own “parade rest” position, hands clasped in front of her, shoulders squared and back, one leg slightly in front of the other.

Those endless legs...he’d spent hours between them. He thought of those flexed calves, her sleek thighs around another man’s hips, and his stomach twisted into an ugly knot.

In her prime, she had made the most powerful man in the Twelve Colonies forget the pressures he carried. What would she do for a frakking mechanic? Offer her opinion on mufflers? The waste of her choice was almost as bad as her betrayal. She was better than this.

He gripped his anger even tighter, and hoped it would get him through the next necessary step.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. President?”

The challenge he heard in her question flipped a switch deep in his heart. What they had was dead. Time to drive a stake through it, bury it, throw in onto a flaming pyre. _I want to hurt her_ , he realized. _I want to crack that calm of hers._

Richard let his face relax into a condescending smile just short of a sneer.

“How’s your car, Laura?”

As she studied him with a puzzled frown, he waved the security detail out of the room.

“Would you mind telling me what that was all about, sending two of your security detail to bring me here?”

He waited until the door swung shut behind the two black-suited men.

“I didn’t know what frame of mind you’d be in, after your budget protests got shot down again. I wanted to make sure I caught you before you left.” He steepled his fingers in front of him, waiting.

His false smile faltered as he watched her professional façade mask the woman he once thought he knew. A subtle wariness around her eyes was the only hint that she knew something grave was about to happen.

“I’ve taken political hits from you before, Richard. They’ve never made me run away.”

He straightened the black folder, aligning the bottom edge with the edge of the desk. It felt good to look away from her, away from that intense, examining gaze.

“I asked you how your car was.”

 

A wash of pink crept over her cheeks. “Two security officers, staying late...you went to a lot of trouble to ask me about a car. There’s nothing wrong with the motor pool maintenance, if that’s your concern.” A muscle along her jaw twitched. “It was my personal car.”

The black folder lay between them, malignant.

“Yes, that vintage Mustang your Dad left you. I understand you had to go quite a bit out of your way to get it…serviced.”

He wanted to taunt her with his suspicions, wanted to needle and dig with crude innuendo. Opening the folder, he began looking over the damning reports, drawing out his silence.

The stain on her cheeks deepened. “”Richard, why are you doing this?”

“You told me once that you couldn’t think of any reason why you’d need to have anything to do with Bill Adama.” He leaned back, searching her face for signs he’d scored a hit.

“And you told me once you wanted to be remembered as a man who did the right thing, who always put the colonies of Kobol above special interests.” She leaned in, eyes flashing.

He drew back, her words a sharp slap across his face. “Are you accusing me of something, Secretary Roslin?”

“Are you accusing _me_ of something, Mr. President?” she volleyed back.

He jerked the folder around to face her so she could see the reports, the pictures.

_The Secretary of Education disappeared from sight, along with B. Adama, for twenty-seven minutes._

_The Secretary of Education appeared distracted and somewhat disheveled upon exit, then proceeded to the scheduled Cabinet meeting._

The picture stung the most. He looked at it again like he was seeing it for the first time. Her high color, her slightly swollen, curved mouth, her hair tousled into a beautiful mess…had she ever looked like that, after being with him?

“You frakked him, didn’t you?” The question was out before he could stop himself. ”Is that why you were late?” He ran his eyes over her navy suit…hadn’t she been in pink before? Was she afraid signs of her lover, the smell of him, had seeped into her clothes?

Something about that thought made him feel small and defeated.

“Do you want me to answer that, Richard?” She rose out of her chair, both her palms flat on his desk. “Because if I do…you can’t go back to not knowing. There’ll be that connection, no matter how you might want to spin it.” Her eyes took on a weary cast. “Do you really think you can afford that?”

His mind spun as he imagined bright lines connecting him, and Laura, and the felon outlaw Adama. Other thin bright lines connecting him with clandestine groups within the military, with defense contractors. With Dr. Baltar and his banned research.

Self-preservation won out over his feelings. Time to snip whatever lines he could that tied him to trouble. There were things he really didn’t need to know. And as long as she was around, even if their personal relationship was over, she would bring trouble back to him. Her questioning, the officer’s veiled allegations… He didn’t have it in him to keep defending her. Not after this. He glanced down at the pictures again. _Especially not after this._

He rose as well, not meeting her eyes. “I don’t want any answers, Laura. I don’t want anything from you.” He steeled himself, thought of her with that hoodlum. “Other than your resignation. I want that on my desk in the morning.”

The shock in her eyes was satisfying. The relief that followed was not.

“You’ll have it by the time you arrive, Mr. President.”

He thought he’d see regret, not a solemn, serene calm as she turned and walked out of his life.

_What have I done?_ He pulled out his cell and let his thumb hover over Tory’s name as the sound of the door closing faded away. He looked down at her picture and just for a second saw instead a younger Laura, lips curved into a smile like they shared a secret joke.

The phone went back in his pocket. After fraying the edges of the black folder, listening to his watch tick off the seconds, Richard switched on his shredder. The high-pitched grinding whine started up, sounding louder, hungrier than usual.

He pulled the pages apart, feeding them into the metallic maw one by one. The President of the Twelve Colonies watched the black and white fragments fall like so much grim confetti.


	48. Calm Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The worst part is over...or is it? There's still things that need to be said, and a storm's coming in...
> 
>  
> 
> _"Take him by the hand / Make him understand"_

  
  
Laura’s black-suited escorts had disappeared while she had been in the President’s office. _Wanted to spare me having witnesses to my walk of shame_ , she mused. The elation she’d felt as she walked out of his office for the last time was beginning to ebb. The thickness of the folder on Richard’s desk didn’t match the thinner sheaf of photographs and reports he’d slammed in front of her. She wondered what other information he had, and on who. And why hadn’t he used it?  
  
Her steps slowed and she looked up at the oil portraits of past presidents mounted in heavy gilded frames. Some of what she’d done could be easily spun as treason, if the right person was doing the spinning. A trick of the light gave older portraits the suspicious bulldog glare the Lieutenant Colonel had trained on her in the meeting.  
  
Would she be looking over her shoulder the rest of her life? She’d move, of course…she picked up her pace again and began doing the math. Her savings wouldn’t go far with an uptown Caprica CIty apartment.  
  
 _I have a house that’s paid for.  
  
I have a car that runs._  
  
Her mind turned to what was most important, what would get her through everything else that would come.  
  
 _And I have Bill._  
  
She’d make it work. By the time she was in front of her office, she was thinking of teaching again…maybe tutoring, she silently amended. No telling what sort of cloud she’d have over her after news of her dismissal came out. Maybe Richard thought he was being decent by letting her resign, but everybody knew what sudden resignations meant.  
  
 _Maybe bikers’ kids could use some tutoring._  
  
Laura walked through her secretary’s office and stood in the doorway a minute, looking at her inner sanctum with fresh eyes. Her educational credentials were framed and mounted on the wall, evidence that she’d completed a couple of advanced degrees. There were a few pictures bought at the School of the Arts' annual fairs over the years. Too many photographs of her and Richard, him shaking her hand, posture rigid and cool as he handed her a plaque or badge of office.  
  
None of her family. Nothing showing she cared about someone, that someone cared about her.  
  
She turned back and went to the supply cabinet by her secretary’s desk. The woman’s propensity to hoard was a blessing in disguise: there were a couple of empty boxes that had once held reams of printer paper long since used. Space enough to pack up her professional life.  
  
The framed diplomas went in first. Then the umbrella, the jacket, the set of workout clothes she’d used the first year the building gym was built. She sat at her desk and began opening drawers, pulling the wastebasket over to her chair. Bit by bit, the detritus of years of professional life were sorted out.  
  
The make-up, the packs of snack crackers and raisins, the cups of dried soup, all testimony to long days and demands were tossed first.  
  
Her innate frugality kept her from discarding the unopened package of stockings and the one of new panties. Her face heated as she put them under the diplomas. No need to cause any more scandalous speculation among the staff than she had to.  
  
Some outdated earrings, pens out of ink, and an old box of tampons stuffed in the back of her bottom drawer jarred her, made her realize how long she’d been here, and at other, similar desks. It felt good to drop everything in the wastebasket.  
  
Her hand stilled over a creased envelope. There was no label, no markings…she knew she’d never need any clues about the contents. She opened the flap just enough to see the yellowed newsprint and a partial date of the first clipping. They were all here…Mom, Dad and the girls, and a fresher-looking scrap bearing the brief summation of Zak Adama’s life and death.  
  
The wind was picking up, beginning to gust against the window. It was full night, dark enough to mirror her reflection back at her in the light of the office. Laura stood and switched off her desk lamp. She held her hands up to the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the moon above the light pollution of the city. Thick clouds blocked the sight…a storm was moving in over the harbor.  
  
The last storm she’d watched come in over the harbor had signalled the change of everything, even if she hadn’t known it at the time. Zak’s death, the memories...and then Bill. She winced, remembering how she’d let her job-- _well, Richard--_ throw up another painful wall between them.  
  
And then their history, those feelings that had never left either of them, had knocked that wall over like a child’s sand castle on a windy beach. Her reflection carried a smile she hadn’t realized she was wearing. It seemed fitting, somehow, that her last moments in this office were against a backdrop of a coming storm, poised to clear the thick muggy air with a washing rain.  
  
She was adding the last folder marked “Personal,” her contracts and benefits, when a thought niggled at the edge of her mind. Before it could gel, a musical chime from her computer sounded, drawing her attention to the screen.  
  
A high priority email had just hit her inbox. Stomach clenching, she sat and clicked it open, dreading to see what Richard had come up with now. Had he re-thought her actions in light of treason? Would his vindictiveness, or his fear, take him there?  
  
It took two readings for the words to sink in. She released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.  
  
She could read the self-preservation between the carefully crafted lines that would hold up to public scrutiny, should her email ever be made public. The acknowledgement of years spent in educational service. The reference to a conversation they’d never had about retirement. A few false words of thanks and best wishes, and an artificially good-humored line about taking the last of her vacation days so she could get a head start on “her new life.”  
  
He still wanted her out by tomorrow. The part about vacation days told her that. He just didn’t want the speculation that would come with a sudden dismissal of a close (and she knew there was gossip about just  _how_  close) colleague and cabinet member. She snorted at the last line of the email: “Yours Truly, Richard Adar.” He’d never been hers. He’d never been true.  
  
The wave of gratitude at his duplicity warmed her. She realized she’d been hoping what had been between them was just a convenient façade over loneliness, maybe for longer than she knew. Not worth him pursuing, once the anger wore off.  
  
At least he could give her that. Whether he realized it or not.  
  
She clicked through the attachments, dry documents about the business of retirement. Her eyes widened as she read over the monthly pension she was entitled to. It hadn’t felt like that long ago when she had first stood in front of a classroom of students, but the cubit signs said that it was. Not enough to support her apartment, even if she’d wanted to stay in Caprica City, but enough to let her live comfortably in her family home, pay her bills…and help support Bill’s efforts. She typed up a formal request for retirement, backdated it to yesterday, and hit “send.”  
  
 _Thanks, Richard._  It would make him look good (and plausible) in the aftermath of her leaving, covering for both of them. She didn’t want to speculate what else he might be doing…maybe laying groundwork for mental unfitness if she made further accusations, hinting that some instability led to her early retirement. It was enough, for now, that he was letting her go with an income that would continue for the rest of her life.  
  
Her mouth flooded with a metallic tang. _For however long that was._ She swallowed heavily. However long it was, it would be with Bill. Somehow, that made the uncertainty okay.  _Bill_  was a certainty in her life…he always would be, and she was still realizing how much he’d always been.  
  
A crack of thunder just over the harbor made her jump. Far below her, the wind was tossing around discarded papers, the trash of the day. The rain would start any minute. She ran through a last check of her office, pried the necessary keys off her Mustang emblem keychain, and pulled her security badge out of her purse. They were paltry enough remnants of her career, but walking away from them, Laura felt lighter with each step.  
  
As she switched off her lights for the last time, a bolt of lightning lit up the space, bathing everything in a cold, colorless light. Laura tightened her grip on the cardboard box and closed the door behind her.  
  
 _Time to go home._  
  
  
  
****************************************  
  
  
  
Bill looked at his phone again, willing the screen to light up with an incoming call. The last report from Jeremiah had been cautiously encouraging…according to the old soldier, Laura had followed his lead perfectly, switching tracks without missing a beat.  
  
That had been hours ago, though. The governmental workday was long done. Maybe she had decided to wait out the worst of the storm, he told himself.  
  
He looked down at the phone again. The black glass reflected his worried features back at him. He was tempted to call her regular phone…surely she wouldn’t still be around anyone who would wonder who was calling. But if she  _was_  driving in this mess, she didn’t need to be distracted.  
  
“Boss? You need anything?” Helo stood in the doorway that led to the hall between the office and the club.  _The doorway he and Laura had slipped through just that morning, when they_ —he felt his face flush with remembered heat.  
  
“I’m good, Helo.”  
  
“Sure?” Helo held out a bottle of Tauron scotch, some of the top shelf stuff. Bill raised an eyebrow at that. His anxiety must have been more obvious than he thought.  
  
“Save that for later, when we’ve got something to celebrate.”  
  
Helo started to say something, then seemed to think better of it. He turned, closing the door behind him, leaving Bill alone again.  
  
The Accounts Receivable ledger lay open on his desk. After another searching glance out the window into the dreary black gloom, Bill sat again. Maybe getting some work done would distract him from the silent phone. His exhausted eyes closed for a second as he leaned back and tried to rub some of the tiredness away.  
  
The familiar rumble coming from the parking lot brought him upright again. By the time he got to the door, she was already out of the car, running through the drenching rain. The brass bell jingled as he threw the door open, welcoming her in with open arms.  
  
  
  
*****************  
  
  
  
“Bill, don’t! I’m soaked,” she said, putting her hands up to hold him back.  
  
“I don’t care,” he said, wrapping her tight against his chest. The heat coming off his skin felt heavenly, and Laura let herself relax into his embrace for a moment before pulling away. She could feel her hair plastered against her cheeks, water still dripping down her suit. His shirt was soaked in spots from their hug, and a couple of stray drops beaded in his moustache. His eyes…oh, Gods, she should have pulled over and called. She could see the worry in his eyes.  
  
 _Selfish._  She hadn’t wanted to take the time. The need to see him had gotten stronger by the mile until she was driving far too fast, a thread of common sense warning her against fumbling for her phone.  
  
“Are you alright?” He held her by the shoulders, looking her over carefully, methodically. His gaze was calmer now, his tension only shown by the strength of his grip. Laura felt herself beginning to relax for the first time in hours.  
  
“Well, I’m soaked to the skin, but yes, I’m alright.” She laid her hand on top of his. “I tried to call earlier but the phone you gave me had gone dead.”  
  
He nuzzled his cheek against her hand. “Jeremiah told me you did great, but I was so worried…I wish you could have called me on your phone. You wouldn’t have had to say much. Just hearing you—“  
  
“Bill,” she said, dropping her hand and stepping back, “we need to talk.”  
  
“I—sure, Laura. And you need to get dried off.” The old note of caution in his voice gripped at her heart and she wished she’d chosen different words.  
  
“C’mon back,” he continued, heading to the hallway into the club. “I’ve got a room here. You can dry off, and we can talk.”  
  
“A room?” She glanced at the closed door of the bathroom as they passed. “So, why the bathroom this morning?”  
  
He paused, one hand resting at the small of her back. “The place was pretty crowded this morning, lots of people wanting to talk to me.” He gave her an abashed grin. “I didn’t want to waste the little bit of time we had making introductions and telling people to wait.”  
  
He pushed open a heavy door fitted with more deadbolt locks than seemed necessary. The space behind it was dark after the lights of the hallway, a couple of lamps and some neon over the long bar providing the only illumination. Laura wrinkled her nose before she could stop herself: old smoke, old booze, and a scent she could only describe as “male” hung heavy in the air. This was a space where men gathered after working with their hands and backs, lifting beer bottles with machine-grubby hands, propping heavy work boots on chair rungs.  
  
It shouldn’t have reminded her of her father, but it did.  
  
The decorous hallways and thick-carpeted offices she’d just left seemed like a different world. She let herself breathe in this new atmosphere as she walked past a pool table, a half-circle of chairs and a couple of couches. This was Bill’s world, his own cabinet room. A figure in the shadows nodded at them as they passed, then went back to playing solitaire on a smudged computer screen. He was the only occupant of the room.  
  
Bill nodded back. “Most of the guys are off taking care of business or home with their families. Somebody always stays here, though.”  
  
His own security detail. The thought made her smile. For having such a rough appearance, this felt like a safe place. He turned down another hallway, taking her through another door with deadbolt locks. She realized the maze of connected spaces was designed to create delays for any outsiders trying to force their way in. Better lit, this hallway had a display of pictures on one side. Laura stopped shivering from her wet clothes as her attention was drawn to the images.  
  
Most were men she didn’t recognize. There were two shots of Bill; one where he looked just a little older than when they first met, angry eyes and white-knuckled fingers holding a placard with numbers in front of his chest.  _His first mug shot,_ she realized.  
  
Two rows down was another picture of him. This time he looked like he did when she took the boys to visit him in prison. The angry glare was gone, replaced by a calm look of acceptance, maybe even a touch of pride. The numbers on the placard were different, and he held the cardboard as easily as she’d held framed commendations in her own office pictures.  
  
He moved to stand at her side, an arm around her waist. “Come on, you’ve got to be freezing.” But he seemed willing to linger with her for a moment longer.  
  
There was something fascinating about the various expressions in the wall of mug shots. Some were defiant. Others were sneering. A few looked almost amused. There was the man she’d seen with Carolanne that one time. Further down was a shot of Lee, trying for bravado but his nervousness peeking through.  
  
Some of the pictures were bordered with a black ribbon. One stood out, conspicuous by the absence of numbers across the front. Her heart twisted. Zak, in his senior picture, smiling out at the world. She touched the black ribbon, stroking the fabric, remembering the little boy he’d been. She squeezed the hand at her waist and stepped back, the moment of remembrance over.  
  
A few more steps and they were in front of a door marked “Private.” Bill unlocked it and led her in. It felt good to be in his setting, she realized. It was a rough and rag-tag room, old double bed covered with a Harley bedspread, dented mini-fridge and tiny microwave by a vintage dresser, out-of-date pin-up calendars on the wall. A Twelve Colonies flag hung over the bed, with a Tauron flag beside it. As rough as it was, something about the room made her feel welcome.  
  
“It’s not much, I know…but it works for when there’s too much going on to go home for the night. Here, let me get you some towels.” He stepped into a tiny adjoining bathroom.  
  
The worst of the shivering had stopped, although she was still soaked to the skin. His calm confidence was the perfect antidote to the fear-fueled day she’d had. A sudden chill ran through her, catching her off-guard. Part of her wished she hadn’t said anything about needing to talk. That calm confidence was about to take a heavy hit, if she told him everything.  
  
She tightened her lips into a determined line. Everything he’d done, everything they’d been through, told her his love was unconditional. If she held the truth back from him now, she’d be dishonoring what they had together. He’d told her unpleasant truths, things she knew he would have prefered to keep buried. Could she do any less? It’d be hard.... She thought back over the past weeks.  _I can do “hard.”_  
  
He was back, wrapping a thick towel around her hair after setting a couple more on the bed.  
  
“Let’s get you out of these. I’ve got a washer and dryer in the next room,” he said, starting to unbutton her jacket like he’d been undressing her for years. She had started squeezing her wet hair with the towel when she realized he had stopped and was looking at her with curiosity.  
  
“You changed clothes.”  
  
She began unbuttoning her blouse, giving him a small lop-sided grin. “I realized I had some grease stains on my skirt after I left you.”  
  
His lips quirked as a slight flush started at his jaw. “I was hoping your jacket would cover that.”  
  
“It did, just barely, but I didn’t know who I might see after the meeting, so I figured it’d be safer to just change.”  
  
She slid her skirt down her legs and handed it to Bill, taking the towel he offered. She began drying her legs, still damp and goose-pimpled, keeping her eyes on her task, and tried to make her voice sound as casual as she could.  
  
“Turns out that was a good idea. President Adar wanted to meet with me afterwards.”  
  
She could sense his sudden tension, even without touching him.  
  
“Is that what you needed to talk about?” His voice had a carefully casual note that matched hers.  
  
She straightened and finished undressing. Even after she was naked, his eyes didn’t leave hers until she looked away first, wrapping the last towel, beach blanket-sized, around her body. The silence pounded at her ears.  
  
“Yes. Some things….happened after the cabinet meeting,” she finally said.  
  
“Let me put these in to dry,” he said, turning, his hands full of her damp clothes. His voice softened. “Then you can tell me whatever you need to.”  
  
The click of the door behind him was unnaturally loud in the silent room.  
  
  
  
**************************************  
  
  
  
Bill had just set the dryer when his phone went off. He grabbed it before the first faint vibration stopped.  _Saul_. Not surprising…Saul had been witness to his anxious waiting, before and after Gaeta’s report. He knew how hard it had been, being out of touch while she was making her way through a political minefield.  
  
“How is she?”  
  
He shut the dryer and started it, buying a few seconds to mull over that question.  
  
 _I wish I knew._  
  
“She says she’s alright. But something’s going on…Adar pulled her in for a meeting afterwards and whatever it was about, it’s got her rattled. You got anything?”  
  
“Just what I told you before, that asshole colonel meeting with Adar and looking pissed when he left.”  
  
Bill leaned up against the dryer. “Spread the word to keep the clubhouse clear for another couple of hours, Saul. There’s something she needs to talk out and I don’t want any distractions.”  
  
Saul chuckled. “No problem, man. Ellen’s buying rounds every time one of the guys gets up on the pole. That Helo’s got some moves. Him and his old lady—“  
  
The smile that thought generated was quickly wiped away with a mental image of Laura waiting for him to come back.  
  
“Later, Saul. Wish me luck, brother.”  
  
“You won’t need luck, Old Man. Whatever she’s got, you can handle.”  
  
He ended the call. He could handle anything…as long as she didn’t tell him it was over, that the close call of the day had made her think twice about being with him. She didn’t scare easily—her commitment even after the reporter’s murder told him that. But there could be other reasons.  
  
He flashed back to that picture in the paper he’d seen years ago, Laura and Adar at some society function. He’d taken that as a sign she had settled into circles that would never include him. He hadn’t seen it then, signs of a connection between them. That had come much later, when he started hearing the rumors.  
  
And then there was him and her in her father's house that weekend. After that, the thought of her with anyone else was inconceivable.  _At least it was, to me._  He walked back to his room, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. Adar’s soft, well-groomed hands touching her...the image made him sick.  
  
Had she wanted Adar? Cared for him? He couldn’t imagine her frakking someone she had no feelings for...an unwelcome memory of Carolanne, naked and arched under him brought a flush to his cheeks.  _People get lonely, when they think there’s no hope of things ever being right. People...settle. Try to work with what they’ve got._  
  
His jaw clenched despite his accepting self-talk. Part of him couldn’t help but wonder how, where, when? Had she gone from the bed she’d shared with him to Adar? He thought back to a dark parking lot, wife and new baby waiting at home and a wave of shame hit.  
  
Who was he to judge her?  
  
And at this point, did it even matter? Whatever else was going on, she was here with him. And she needed him, even if it was just to listen.  
  
She’d listened to him, while he told her hard truths. He owed her that, and so much more. He took one deep breath, let it out slowly, and opened the door. A fall of damp curls hid her eyes as she sat on his bed with her knees pulled up. She turned to look at him, and the anxiety he saw there cut him deep.  
  
 _I can do this._  
  
“They’ll take about an hour.” He sat across from her on the sagging bed and reached over to brush a lock of hair out of her face, letting his fingers linger on her cheek for a second.  
  
“I’m here, Laura. Talk to me.”


	49. Everything Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Laura needs to talk, Bill needs to listen, both need to remember days gone by as they think about the future
> 
>  
> 
> _"Whatever colors you have in your mind / I'll show them to you and you'll see them shine."_

  
  
Laura had asked for this, had set the stage for this conversation as soon as she walked through his door. If she had just taken the comfort he was offering and kept quiet, she could be putting her day behind her right now, all the messy, ugly parts.  
  
The parts that would hurt him to hear.  
  
It had seemed so clear as she had driven through the downpour, the windshield wipers a grim metronome setting the tempo of her thoughts. She’d been so sure, when she pulled into his lot and turned off her engine, that tonight, all the words needed to be said.  
  
In this quiet, shabby room, so far away from the city and who she’d been there, silence felt so comfortable. She’d allowed herself a few minutes to imagine this as her space as well as his, imagined she knew all the faces in the pictures on the wall, knew the biker standing watch at the bar.  
  
That brief fantasy had faded with the sound of his footsteps. It was just her and her last secret when he came back into the room. He was so gentle, encouraging her with light touches and calm words. A cool ripple of air touched her bare shoulders and she hugged her knees tighter, fighting off a shiver. The sympathetic look he gave her was more than she could take right now.  
  
“Help me with my hair while we talk?” At his nod, she shifted, turning until she was sitting with her back to him. She didn’t think she could take seeing his eyes right now, or the emotions she knew would be playing over his face, but she needed some physical contact, enough to anchor her while she made her way through this.  
  
She handed him the towel, and let herself lean back. Sitting like this with him had always felt so good. She relaxed under his touch as he blotted the water from her hair, his fingers gently working out the tangles. The words came easily at first, her description of the meeting, Jeremiah’s warning, the suspicious colonel. Low murmurs of encouragement soothed her, to the point where she wished she could just skip over the next parts.  
  
“I was going to call you…I knew you were waiting to hear from me, but…that’s when Adar let me know he wanted to see me.” She held back the fear she’d felt, the sinking dread and speculation that had shaken her on the endless escorted walk to Richard’s office. As dispassionately as she could, she described the scene with Adar: the photos, the reports, the demands, the accusations.  
  
 _Most_  of the accusations.  
  
“I don’t think he knew about the investigations I’d been doing, or about your…other activities.”  
  
She remembered the stack of papers he hadn’t shown her. “Although he may have more that he didn’t bring up.” She chewed her lip in thought. “If it had been important, though, I think he would have.”  
  
 _If he’d thought he had grounds to accuse me of treason, I wouldn’t be here._  
  
Bill’s fingers stilled in her hair. “He’s going to fire you over, what? Associating with a felon? Having a private life?”  
  
Her shoulders stiffened. She was glad she was facing the cheap paneled wall instead of him.  
  
“He’s always had a problem with me knowing you, Bill. He’s heard rumors about Outlaw criminal activity for years. Remember Zak’s funeral?”  
  
His fingers dropped from her hair and cupped her shoulders with a light touch, his thumbs stroking away the stiffness. “I remember. Did he suspect what we’re trying to do? Or is this personal?” He hesitated for a second. “How much does he know about us?”  
  
She turned slightly, glancing at him, then looked away. She had the incongruous thought that his eyes had never looked bluer.  
  
“Besides this morning? He knew the old stuff. That summer, then you being there for me with Dad and the girls....”  
  
“So, he found out you rekindled an old flame with an inappropriate guy. I can see an inquiry, a warning, maybe, but to ask for your resignation, push you into retirement…”  
  
His voice trailed off, and Laura kept her gaze fixed on a knothole in the far wall, shaped like a bulls-eye. She should stop this while she still could. She could still get up, deflect his questions, salvage what they had. They could have a life together, work together, finally be together fully…except for this one, tiny piece of her life. She could stick her affair with Richard in a box, close it up tight, and Bill would never have to know….  
  
It’s not like she hadn’t done it before. She had a collection of lockboxes in her heart, or did until Bill Adama came back to start opening them. And each opening had felt better, felt a little more true to herself. But this, this one should stay closed.  
  
She was so deep in her thoughts she barely felt it when he slipped his arms around her again, his chest warm against her bare back. His breath ghosted over her ear as he finally spoke.  
  
“Laura, it wasn’t just your position as Secretary of Education he asked you to resign, was it?”  
  
Her mind, her careful, analytical mind, was urging her to deny, disarm, deflect his question. But she could feel her heart nudging her towards the precipice she’d been hoping to avoid for months.  
  
 _Jump, Laura. Trust him to catch you._  
  
She turned in his arms, meeting his eyes, trusting those deep blue waters would buoy her up, get her through this. She wouldn’t look down, wouldn’t look away. She’d take whatever he gave her.  
  
“No,” she said, softly. “No, it wasn’t.”  
  
A lock of damp hair fell over her eye and he pushed it back with a gentle thumb. His eyes held the love she’d hoped for, and shone with a depth of compassion and empathy she hadn’t expected.  
  
There was some pain, too, in those blue eyes, under the understanding.  
  
 _Had he suspected?  
  
No.  
  
He knew._  
  
She braced herself for what would come next.  
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
Her throat tightened. Of all the questions she’d imagined he would ask if she ever told him about Richard, she hadn’t expected this.  
  
Her hands went up to cup his weathered face, fingers tracing over his temples. His full lips held the beginning of a smile, and she knew he was seeing her without any masks, with no secrets between them. It had been easier than she thought. He loved the woman she was…no matter what.  
  
“Yeah, I’m okay.” She finally let a smile play around her lips. “Better than okay. I feel…free to be with you, like I always wanted to.”  
  
He pulled her to him and touched his lips to her forehead.  
  
“About time.”  
  
She luxuriated in the feeling of his lips on her skin, his hands over hers.  _About time_ was right. They had been dancing around each other far too long. There were still so many gaps. She felt like she’d learned about all the missing pieces of his life over the past months, and there was still so much she hadn’t shared. He hadn’t pushed, wasn’t pushing now. But he had to have questions.  
  
It was somehow perfect, almost eerily so, that this was the day she’d been able to tell him she loved him.  
  
She turned her back to him, damp hair spilling behind her. He began running his fingers through her hair again, doing that little shaking motion he’d always used back when they were at his place and she’d forgotten her dryer.  
  
“You’re taking this better that I’d even hoped, Bill. I know this isn’t easy to hear.”  
  
His hands stilled again. “I’d wondered. There’s been rumors about...you and himfor a long time. I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”  
  
Laura bowed her head, vision blurring. “You could have asked. I wouldn’t have lied to you.”  
  
“I know. I think that’s why I didn’t ask.” Something in his tone made her turn around. His lips had tightened and she realized this wasn’t as easy for him as he was making it sound.  
  
“Just so you know, after we...after that weekend, I was never with him like that again.”  
  
The relief she read in his eyes was heartbreaking. “You broke it off after that? But I thought today--”  
  
She stopped him with a determined shake of her head. “I didn’t break it off, Bill. Maybe I should have, but things started changing so fast, all the things you told me. And he’d been distracted by someone else for months. I figured it’d be best to...just let things be.”  
  
There was more disbelief than suspicion in his look. “He just left you alone?” He looked her up and down, over every inch of flesh the towel exposed. “You?”  
  
She finally smiled at that. “I made it easy for him. He was more than ready to accept my excuses. I’ve known him a long time. I knew what to say to make him leave me alone.”  
  
His brow darkened. “I hate the thought of you like that, having to talk your way out of doing something you didn’t want to do.” He looked away. “I hate the thought there were times when you wanted to.”  
  
 _Here it was_. A part of her was relieved.  
  
She took his hand in both of hers. “Bill, look at me.”  
  
She waited until he met her eyes.  
  
“I wasn’t a helpless victim in all this. There was a time when Richard Adar was...I considered him a friend. A colleague. And then, the day came when that went further than I expected.”  
  
She felt her face start to flush, but forced herself to go on. “I’m not proud of what I did, the choices I made then. But as much as I wished things had been different for us, I’m not going to lie about that. I’m done with lies.”  
  
There was a sheen to his eyes that looked familiar…more regret than remorse. She nodded without speaking. There was enough to go around. He slowly returned her nod.  
  
“I’m not gonna sit here and tell you I hated every minute I was with Carolanne, either. It wasn’t much and it wasn’t enough…and it was nothing like I knew it’d be with you. But there were times when I told myself I should just settle for what I had.”  
  
Her fingers twisted together with his, gripping tight. “I had that conversation with myself a couple of times. Sometimes I could almost believe it.”  
  
He looked thoughtful, the wrinkles around his eyes softening. “I don’t know what the future’s going to hold, Laura. But whatever happens, I’m grateful for this, however we got here. Whatever it took.”  
  
She felt the difference as soon as she pressed her cheek against his shoulder. The last of the barriers had come down. She could feel it in her bones. He got it...he got all of it. HIs arms folded her close and they sat like that for a while, his nose buried in her hair as he took deep breaths.  
  
She was finally with Bill, with no timetables, no deadlines, no schedules to keep.  
  
Outside, the thunder and lightning had stopped, the flashes, the crackling booms over for the night. All that was left was the sound of the rain.  
  
  
  
**************************************************  
  
  
  
She finally broke the easy silence. “I wish I could have done more.”  
  
The twitch of his arms told her he’d been lost in thought as much as she’d been. “The report? You did more than I would have asked you to do. And you followed instructions when they came. You did great.”  
  
“What happens now?”  
  
He sighed, and she wished she hadn’t been so quick to bring them back to the real business of the day.  
  
“We take what you gathered, hand it off to people who can come at it from a different angle. I go back to my place in all this.”  
  
She raised her head and looked up at him. “And…do I have a place in what you’re doing?”  
  
His eyes lit up, crinkles fanning out at the corners as he grinned. “Yeah. As long as you want it, your place is gonna be by my side, like it should’ve been all along.”  
  
Her murky future started to clear, and she and Bill were at the center. This was what her father had tried to prepare for. He had wanted her protected, out of harm’s way...he always had. She thought he’d understand why she had decided to stop playing it safe. She was finally where she was supposed to be.  
  
The realization brought a smile as wide as his to her lips. She slid her arms around his neck and pulled him into a deep, needy kiss. Her towel slipped down to her waist as she moved against him. When they finally pulled apart, his gaze had turned hot and wanting.  
  
"You look like you did that time in my apartment. Your hair damp and wild, cheeks all flushed….” He grinned again, soft and loving as he slipped his hand up to cup her breast.  
  
His touch, his words took her back to a safer, more innocent time. She let herself go with the feelings the memories stirred. Reality could wait a while longer.  
  
“You remember that?” A flash of heat rolled through her pelvis. She remembered exactly what he was talking about. She’d been nineteen, and they’d been lovers for a few sweet months, but there was one time that stood out above the rest.  
  
“I started thinking about it as soon as I started drying your hair.” He lowered his head to drop kisses along her collarbone.  
  
“The broken shower.” Laura arched into him, threading her fingers through his hair.  
  
“Mm…and you, bending over the kitchen sink.” He nipped at her skin and her flesh pebbled up.  
  
“You were so gentle, it felt like I was getting a massage instead of a shampoo,” she teased, running her hand under his shirt to work at one button, then the next.  
  
“The way I remember it, I couldn’t stay gentle for long. You kept wiggling back against me…I knew you could feel what that was doing.”  
  
She smiled as she pulled his shirt off. She’d known exactly what she was doing, deliberately pushing back against him until she could feel his erection through her denim cut-offs, straining against the fly of his jeans.  
  
“I couldn’t believe you waited until you’d rinsed all the soap out of my hair. I could tell you were ready to explode.”  
  
“It wasn’t easy. Had to think about training drills.” Bill bent to pull off his boots, then stood, hands gripping her shoulders while she worked at his belt, then his pants.  
  
“I still love this part,” she whispered, pushing his pants down and letting him pulse against her hand through the front of his briefs. “Even with the underwear.” She gave him a wicked grin. It felt so good to be able to take all the time she wanted with him.  
  
“I’m supposed to be a respectable—well, sort of respectable—businessman. Can’t go commando like I used to.” His breath caught as she slid the briefs down his thighs, freeing his cock.  
  
He’d been commando back then, she remembered. He’d been hard and hot and desperate to yank her cut-offs down, while she’d hissed encouragement through gritted teeth, still bent and gripping the edge of the sink. Like she'd done this morning...  
  
That long-ago day, she'd braced herself for a rough-and-tumble frak. She'd barely been able to contain her shock when he pulled her hands free and lifted her up on the counter. He’d kissed her hard, then trailed more kisses down her body, shoving her soaked tank top up to get at her skin. His grip on her thighs had steadied her as she opened her legs wide, wider, biting her lip as his mouth closed over her sensitive nub, then moved to tease the delicate folds below.  
  
 _So good. It was always so good._  
  
 _It still is._  
  
She leaned forward and nuzzled the curls at his base, darting her tongue over his skin, tracing the delicate veins.  
  
“Gods, Laura, the way you looked…” His cock jumped against her lips. She slowly drew him in as his hands wound tight in her hair. Steadying herself with her hands on his hips, she slipped off the bed, down to her knees, keeping him deep inside her mouth. The towel fell off, leaving her naked at his feet.  
  
 _Only him. She had only ever been this completely open, this trusting for him. This…ready to do anything.  
  
Just with Bill._  
  
She sucked along the shaft, drawing her lips over the head, flicking her tongue over the sensitive spot behind. He groaned and his fingers jerked against her scalp.  
  
“Wait, Laura…wait—“ He pulled back, breathing hard. His eyes were almost black when he looked down at her.  
  
“I don’t have a kitchen sink in here,” he said, pulling her up into his arms and laying her on the bed. Now he was kneeling, his palms pushing her thighs apart. “This’ll have to do.”  
  
Laura had a rejoinder on the tip of her tongue, something about the old days, when he bent his head, mouth lightly sucking and teasing along her swelling folds. All her words flew away in a heartbeat. She lay back, settled her legs over his shoulders, and gave herself over to his touch.  
  
He was gentle for a few moments, easing her into the whirl of sensation he was creating with his lips and tongue. Her hips jerked as he slipped two fingers deep inside in one long thrust that took her breath away. The echo of the morning’s frantic frakking made her clench down hard, squeezing him tight, and his guttural moan against her delicate flesh sent sparks flying as she arched against him.  
  
All gentleness burned away as they moved together. Her want and his need collided, igniting a perfect storm of bright sensation.  
  
Laura bit her lip until it hurt, holding back the cries building in her throat. Too many years of keeping quiet in hotel rooms and back offices stifled her voice, reminded her to be cautious, mindful of who might hear through the thin paneled walls.  
  
Glittering blue eyes met hers as he lifted his head. “Don’t hold back, Laura. Not with me.” He bent again and the flat of his tongue rasped maddeningly over her clit again and again in perfect counterpoint to his curling, thrusting fingers.  
  
 _He knows. He knows what it’s been like._  
  
That thought opened something inside her, releasing her last inhibitions. Locking her ankles behind him, she fisted the covers and gave voice to the relentless waves of pleasure. Thighs trembling against his shoulders, she let herself keen loud, louder…then screamed as a white-hot orgasm ripped through her, strong and sharp as summer lightning.  
  
“Gods, I love you, Laura Roslin.”  
  
She smiled lazily and let her legs fall to the bed, moving back to give him room. His face glistened with her juices as he rose above her, his eyes adoring and his erection jutting proud and diamond-hard. He wiped his palm over his face and she grabbed his hand and kissed it, giving it a long, sultry lick before bringing it to her cheek.  
  
“I love you, too, Bill.” She felt him stroke the head of his cock over her opening and shuddered with a tremor of after-shock. A sob welled up, deep in her throat, as her eyes filled with tears.  
  
“Baby? What’s—“ He hesitated, braced over her.  
  
“Shh.” She touched her fingers to his lips, stopping his question. “It’s just...it’s been a long time.” She let the sob break. She saw the understanding in his eyes. It had been a lifetime since it was just  _them_  making love, nothing and no one hidden in the shadows. The secrets were finally over, all the walls were down. She reached down and guided him into her.  
  
It was different this time. It was primal, claiming, deeper than she imagined it could be. It was like the old days, when inexperience had made them graceless and wild, no skillful moves or practiced touches. Only passion, only love driving them, using their bodies to say “I love you. I want you. I’m yours.” Their hips ground together, flexing and arching as they bit and kissed, rough and hard. His eyes burned into hers, incinerating everything that was not them, that was not Bill and Laura.  
  
 _He feels it, too_  she thought. She met his gaze with the fire of her own. She felt herself melt into a blissful haze as he buried his face against her neck. His groans grew louder as he drove into her, blazing towards his finish.  
  
A shivering orgasm spiraled through her as she felt him pulse deep inside, her cries joining his. She tightened her legs around him as their cries became shuddering gasps. It was as wild as that first night they’d come back together, but sweeter, richer this time.  
  
All the walls were down, the last secret told.

 

 


	50. Ready or Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: It's not just them, as much as they'd like it to be. Laura knew that. Now she feels it, too.
> 
>  
> 
> _;Reality was back, and full of the unfamiliar_
> 
>  
> 
>   
> (Banner courtesy of the gifted, artistic, and generous urania16 )

The rumble was soft at first, distant and low, like the storm had begun again a county away. Laura wrinkled her nose, eyes still shut. Where was the light herbal fragrance, a mixture of sweet grasses and mint, she used in her room? She sniffed experimentally.  
  
 _Male musk._  
  
 _Sweat._  
  
 _Sex._  
  
The heat and bulk next to her brought it all back. She was in Bill’s bed.  
  
In his life.  
  
The rumbles came again, echoed in the vibrations thrumming through his chest as he snored lightly next to her. The thunder was moving closer. She felt his body with her own, orienting herself in the dim light shining from a tiny desk lamp across the room.  
  
He was splayed on his back, one arm around her and one curled to his chest, fingers tangled in her hair. Her cheekbone rested on one rib and she felt every heartbeat through his bones to hers. The thought made her smile and draw one lean thigh up his body, slow and languorous.  
  
He was flat on his back, like he’d slept when he was young and their sharing a bed together was new. When  _they_ were new, and life hadn’t begun curling them up, making them guarded and defensive in their sleep. She half-opened her eyes and watched his chest rise and fall. Her soft exhalations barely stirred the hairs on his skin, surprisingly spare and silky for a man who seemed so rough.  
  
More of the contradictions of Bill Adama. She turned her head and rubbed her lips feather-light over his chest, feeling the roughness of his pebbled nipple. Her tongue darted out, dampening the skin, and she blew lightly, mesmerized by the sight of the copper-brown flesh peaking before her eyes.  
  
She wished she had another lifetime to discover him all over again, learn every inch of him.  
  
“Hey.” His voice was sleep-rumbly near her ear. Laura raised her head enough to see his face. His lips quirked in a radiant smile. His arm tightened around her shoulder.  
  
“Hey to you, too.” She nuzzled into his shoulder. “I guess we fell asleep.” She was slowly becoming aware of coolness, stickiness that told her they hadn’t taken time to clean up before drifting off, wrapped around each other.  
  
“Not as young as we used to be,” he said, a chuckle shaking his belly.  
  
“Look, I had a long day,” she teased, pulling her knee up higher on his thigh. She wanted to hold him close with her arms, her legs…close enough to feel like they’d never be apart again.  
  
“I should go get your clothes.” He pulled her tighter to him. She sighed contentedly, then stiffened as she heard voices over more thunder.  
  
Not thunder.  
  
 _Engines._  
  
“Bill? Who’s out there?” She pulled out of his arms and sat up, gathering the faded bedspread over her breasts. The inside of her thigh goose-pimpled with the loss of warm contact with his skin.  
  
He craned his head to look at the clock on the nightstand. “Oh, that’s just the guys. Church is in half an hour.” He sat up as well, running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair.  
  
The perfect ease she’d felt as she’d awakened began stiffening, cracking around the edges. Reality was back, and full of the unfamiliar. The cozy world of Bill and Laura was dissolving fast into something she didn’t know if she’d recognize. Or want.  
  
Or understand.  
  
“Church?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow.  
  
“It’s like a…business meeting, I guess, but more.”  
  
“Your club’s version of a cabinet meeting?”  
  
The voices became more numerous…and closer. He glanced at the door. “Yeah, something like that.”  
  
They both jumped a little at the sudden pounding.  
  
“Husker! Hey, Old Man, got something for you. Open the door.” The voice was rough and vaguely feminine. Laura pulled the bedspread higher as the doorknob jiggled furiously.  
  
“Wait a godsdamn minute.” Bill sighed and lumbered out of bed, grabbing the discarded towel and wrapping it around his waist as he went to the door.  
  
Laura began drawing her knees up, making herself small, when something stopped her. This would be her world, now. Her place. She couldn’t hide if she wanted to, she thought ruefully. The smell of fresh sex was still in the air. She didn’t even have a towel…it was now tight around his hips, knotted under his navel and showing a stomach still flat and planed for a man his age.  
  
 _I have a place here, but I still have to take it, make it mine_.  
  
As Bill thumbed the latch, Laura raised her chin and straightened her back against the headboard, waiting.  
  
The door swung half-way open and there was the young woman Bill had sent to her apartment and with Lee that time…Kara. She had a small bundle of clothes in her hands and a smirk on her lips.  
  
“I figured you’d want these out of the dryer.” Bill stood between the door and the room but Kara had no shyness about looking over his shoulder. “Hi, Laura. I’m guessing these are yours.”  
  
She held up the clothes, bra and panties dangling from her fingers. Her smile was brash and bold, but Laura couldn’t see any mockery there. She seemed happy, if anything.  
  
Laura had a flash of the first time she’d been in public after being named Secretary of Education, Richard presenting her to the crowd.  _They just want to see what you’re made of,_ he’d said, as the cameras flared. She summoned up the public Laura, felt her lips curving into a friendly, open smile, her hand lifting in a gracious wave.  
  
“Hi, Kara. Good to see you again.” The absurdity of it all finally struck and she felt her face relaxing into a more natural smile.Maybe she wouldn’t have to put on as much of a front as she thought. Maybe...she wouldn’t have to put on a front at all.  
  
Bill stood between them, one hand on the doorknob, one on his hip. He tried to glower a bit when Kara eased past him to bring the clothes to the bed, but it was obvious they were at a familial ease with each other.  
  
“Figured you wouldn’t want a bunch of guys pawing through your clothes, making comments about the size of your rack.”  
  
Laura met Kara’s remark with a full-throated chuckle. “You figured right. Thanks.”  
  
The noise had escalated, boot heels thudding and bottles rattling against glass. All the thunder she’d woken to had been arriving motorcycles, she realized. It sounded like there was quite a crowd down the hall. The comical image Kara had drawn, big burly men poking at lingerie and cracking wise faded. She thought again of the mug shot wall, the grim faces. Society had deemed these men as dangerous for a reason.  
  
“Tell ‘em I’ll be out in a minute. Lee here?” Bill was reaching for his discarded jeans.  
  
Kara turned her back to him, poised at the door. “Yeah. Want me to send him back?”  
  
The air in the room seemed to crackle. Bill froze for a second, brow furrowed. Laura realized she was holding her breath, although she wasn’t sure why. She looked at the young blonde and saw her shoulders stiffen.  
  
 _She feels it, too._  
  
The moment passed, and Bill put one hand at Kara’s back, giving her a gentle push towards the door. “No. Tell him we’ll be out in a minute.” Kara shot a surprised look over her shoulder at Laura as she left the room, then smiled, closing the door behind her.  
  
 _We._  
  
She got out of bed and went over to Bill, taking the jeans out of his hands. “We need to wash up. Then we can do a meet-and-greet.”  
  
He nodded. “Sure. But it’s not a meet-and-greet, Laura. It’s just—“  
  
She picked up the bundle of clothes. “It’s still politics, Bill. Just a different kind.” She gave him serious look, lightened a bit when one corner of her mouth curved up. “And you know what you set in motion as soon as you started saying ‘we.’  
  
His answering look was one of relief and pride. “Yeah, I guess I did.” He turned sober as he collected some clean clothes. “You okay with meeting the club tonight? You feel ready for this?”  
  
She grabbed his hand and tugged him into the tiny bathroom. “Yes...I think we’re ready.”  
  
 _We._  
  
She liked how that sounded.  
  
  
  
  
*************  
  
  
  
As soon as she shook out the now-dry clothes, she knew this was a bad idea. All the starch had melted out of her collar, and the jacket had lost its crisp lines. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her makeup had run just enough to look smoky on purpose, her hair had dried into tousled careless curls. She looked powerful, strong, she thought, as she watched her naked reflection, shoulders back, spine straight.  
  
She’d lose that, if she put this bedraggled costume back on. She would be the politico in the conservative suit again. And she wasn’t that woman anymore.  
  
Slipping into the bra and panties, Laura stepped out of the bathroom. Bill was tucking his tee shirt into his pants.  
  
“Can you get Kara back in here? I need something from my car.”  
  
He finished buckling his belt. “Sure.” He glanced at the suit she’d tossed on the bed. “Something wrong? They get messed up in the dryer?” He picked up the jacket. “I checked the label first.”  
  
She came up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist. “They don’t fit me right. And it’s not because of the dryer.”  
  
  
  
  
****************  
  
  
  
  
Twenty minutes later, the overnight bag Kara had retrieved was open on Bill’s bed, the navy suit folded beside it. As soon as she’d slid her indigo jeans up her legs and slipped her feet into the short boots she’d packed, she’d started feeling more comfortable in her skin. The red camisole under the half-buttoned shirt looked just edgy enough when she knotted her shirt tails at the waist and rolled the sleeves up. She looked all of a piece again, like she fit in this room, this club.  
  
Like she fit with Bill.  
  
The red of her camisole was muted, matching the blood-red lettering on the back of his cut. And if his admiring gaze was anything to go by, she looked good. As a last touch, she put on the silver hoop earrings Kara had handed her along with her bag. They were big and bold, completely inappropriate for her old life.  
  
She smiled at her reflection.  
  
They were perfect.  
  



	51. Fic: Caprican Chrysalis: Stage One (One Wild Ride)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: As Laura, at Bill's side, makes her first appearance to the Tauron Outlaw Motorcycle Club, Original Caprica Charter, transformations begin in all directions, affecting everyone

  
  
  
  
  
Thanks again to [](http://urania16.livejournal.com/profile) **urania16**  for the lovely banner!  
  
  
  
 **Caprican Chrysalis: Stage One**  
  
  
  
  
For the first few minutes his hand at the back of her waist is her anchor, keeping her grounded in these new swells. It’s like every press conference she ever had after she started her affair with Adar, uncertain how much of her was showing. She tries to imagine herself through the eyes of the leather and denim-clad crowd.  
  
  
They’ve heard about her.  
  
  
A few have seen her in the flesh.  
  
  
One she’s known since he was a boy.  
  
  
He’s the one who starts the applause, rowdy and punctuated with whistles and shouts. Lee’s eyes are encouraging, and they beam with approval as she shifts away from Bill’s protective arm and stands on her own, feet slightly apart and one hand on her hip. She meets the eyes of every man, every woman in front of her. Bill is clapping now, applauding her as he takes one small step away. The message is clear. He trusts her to be her own anchor, to steer her own course at his side.  
  
  
When he takes her in his arms, she meets him as an equal, and the raucous noise crescendos when she grabs a fistful of his hair and pulls him to her for a brash and thorough kiss.  
  
  
She has never kissed a man in front of an audience. It’s heady, intoxicating. It feels dangerous, exposed, her feelings on display.  
  
  
She likes it.  
  
  
Later, she’ll get to know every man of Bill’s inner circle, the politics and positions. She’ll understand why Saul, his Sergeant at Arms, was the only one suitable to shake the dusty bottle and pop the cork, spewing warm champagne over them. She will learn the inner workings of it all, and will learn where change is possible and necessary.  
  
  
In the moment, she is drenched in sweet effervesce, and in the arms of the only man she’s ever loved. Mrs. William Adama, Husker’s Old Lady, the words don’t matter. They are bound to each other, in their hearts and in the eyes of their community.  
  
  
She can’t imagine feeling more married than she does right now.

 

********************************  
  
  
  
  
A/N: And we start a new phase of Bill and Laura's journey...and the ride remains wild :-) More to come!


	52. Fic: Caprican Chrysalis: Stage Two (One Wild Ride)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: It's time to move on, move out, move past...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It only takes one truck to get everything.

One truck and three men and two hours of loading.

Colonial Charities already came to take away the couch (she had been sitting there when she read about Zak).

And the loveseat (the officers had perched there and told her about her family).

And the dining room table (she’d wounded the love of her life at that table).

_Wait, can you take this?_

She pointed to the bed.

_How about this?_

_And this?_

She’d pointed until the Colonial Charities truck was full and her apartment was all but empty. There’s little enough for the Outlaws to load.

She wraps the picture of Bill and the boys with the afghan she’d kept on the back of her couch. She tucks the model Viper in beside it. That box goes with her.

The paint on the walls has faded since she’d moved in. She can see that in the brighter patches where pictures had been. The bikers handle her artwork with surprising care.

Her books take the longest.

There are no echoes of the past in these rooms (or maybe there are none that she wants to hear).

She hands the keys to the doorman, and feels twenty pounds lighter.

She likes how Caprica City looks in her rearview mirror.

 

******

 

Later, when she thinks about it, she’ll ask Bill if the club set things up to give them a sort of a honeymoon. He’ll shrug and blush, then admit that, yeah, it’s rare for a week to go by without even a low level emergency, maybe they did, at that.

Men are coming and going, bumping into each other in the kitchen, boxes from Bill’s house stacked next to hers. Saul elbows Bill when he thinks she’s not looking, makes a lewd joke about all the books, his and hers.

Laura catches his eye and laughs along with them.

 

*****

 

The men make one more run for Bill’s stuff and Ellen and Kara pull Laura towards Ellen’s car, giggling, smirking, telling her she’s gonna love this. They end up at a shop Laura’s never been in, never really thought about.

Her money’s no good here, Ellen tells the owner, and starts going through the racks of wispy fabric and rippling satin and lingerie that’s not much more than spangles and fringe.

Everything Kara hands her is black and dotted with metal studs: nail heads and buttons and grommets in brass and steel.

Everything Ellen hands her is sheer and see-through, ribbons and lace, feathers and fishnet; bridal white, emerald green, cherry red.

Halfway through the trying on, the shopkeeper produces a bottle and plastic glasses, and the champagne goes great with the giggles and Laura feels as young as she was the night of her sister’s baby shower. For the first time, she thinks of that night and remembers the happiness without seeing two officers at her door.

Ellen switches to water after the first glass, and Kara and Laura finish the bottle. It’s been too long since Laura’s been comfortable being silly, and she loves it.

Kara covers her eyes and groans at Ellen adding black silk boxers to the pile, yelping there are some things she doesn't need to know. Ellen threatens to add a thong and Kara makes horrified faces while Laura doubles over, laughing until tears are streaming down her cheeks.

She tells Ellen she bought too much and Ellen tells her there’s no such thing, and hugs her before they get back in the car. Kara squeezes her arm and tells her not to give the Old Man a heart attack.

It feels like the goofy, silly, teasing part of family. She’s missed this more than she knew.

 


	53. Caprican Chrysalis: Stage Three (One Wild Ride)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: A final time of putting away childish things, another step in the right direction for both of them.

 

 

 

 

Everyone finally leaves them alone in the Roslin house that’s now the Roslin-Adama house.

  
Laura watches the last car pull out just as the rain begins. It’s a soft spring rain, a slow and steady drenching. She cracks the window and the cool damp that drifts in smells like grass and minerals. She takes a deep breath--it’s been dusty work--and closes it again. She won’t be here to notice if the rain starts blowing in. Not at this window, after they finish.

  
Her old room is becoming less personal by the minute. Bill helps her move a few last boxes into her parent’s bedroom. He notices the quiver in her chin when she picks up the last of the trinkets and memories she’d packed. It’s more than framed photographs and vintage perfume bottles. Her life is becoming her history and that subtle change is still jarring. It’s a step she can’t take back.

  
She holds it in when he kisses her cheek, when he takes the box out of her hands and tucks it under his arm, when he walks past her, out of her room and into the hall. The faint scent of ginger and jasmine envelops them both for a second, and for that one moment, it feels like summer. She wishes beginnings and endings weren’t so tied together.

  
Bill is a patient man. When he rubs her back, saying “Take your time, sweetheart,” she hears her father’s voice, and the tears fall, streaking her face while she stands in the doorway.  _Stupid_. She hasn’t been a girl for years, for decades. But her room…it had let her pretend when she wanted to, needed to.

  
When she’d wanted to get away from her present, when she'd wanted to take him out of his.

  
Her parent’s room is the master bedroom of the house. Two people had shared their lives and secrets there. Steered their family through crises big and small. Loved each other. Made her and her sisters.

  
Her room had been a place of waiting. Her parents’ room had been a place of being...of living.

  
She strokes the shiny enamel finish of her door frame. “You were a good room,” she says, and her sudden self-mocking giggles cut through her tears. Bill is waiting across the hall, and it’s time to claim a different space as their own.

  
When she tells him she’s been saying “bye” to her room, he doesn’t laugh at her, doesn’t even cock an eyebrow as he wipes a last trace of tear off her cheek. She wonders what it had been like for him, closing Zak’s door for the last time. Not tonight, but some night, when they’ve turned out the lights and are waiting for sleep, maybe she’ll ask.

  
It’s gonna be good for us here, he says, and the wood-paneled walls seem to glow in agreement.

  
The boxes of professional clothes, dress suits, business casual, tasteful evening wear, make a small pyramid under the pull-down attic door in the hall ceiling. Later, after the folding steps are back up, the attic door bumps shut, and the boxes of her old life are neatly stored away, she turns right instead of left.

  
She turns towards her and Bill’s room.

  
****

 


	54. Fic: Caprican Chrysalis: Stage Four (One Wild Ride)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Moving into other spaces, other roles, the metamorphosis continues...

 

 

 

Packing up her parents’ things hurts worse than it should. They’re both long in their graves and Laura wonders why she didn’t clear all this out before. Then Bill is at her shoulder as she sorts through the dresser and the pain starts to ease up before he says a word.

He asks gentle questions about ticket stubs and programs and bookmarks with the names of bookstores from four different planets, and she thinks it was meant to be, him being here. It makes sense now, her waiting to go through their things.

She was waiting for him. Tales need an audience, someone to hear the teller.

Her parents loved to travel to the out-of-the-way places, small jumping-off towns with quirky museums most people would pass by on their way to somewhere else. A ballet program is yellowed and brittle, and she imagines her parents young and wide-eyed, lost in the song of the dancers’ moves. Bill tugs the words out of her, stirring memories of bedtime stories, the bits and pieces of her parents’ history.

Their love story.

She makes a drawer just for their memories, below the socks, the tee shirts, the underwear. They can spare one small space for this. And a little extra space for the memories they will make together.

Deep at the back of the top left drawer are three boxes, dark blue with silver lettering. They are almost invisible against the drawer’s burgundy velvet lining.

In her memories, Laura is twelve again, helping her father choose the perfect pair of earrings for her mother’s birthday, watching them being carefully tucked into just such a box.

Names have been written on the lids:

_Cheryl._

_Sandra._

_Laura._

Whatever this is, she knows it’s going to hurt. Tears prick at her eyes and she almost shuts the drawer, almost leaves this for another day.

Bill lays his hand on her shoulder, standing over her as she sits on the dressing table bench. His touch steadies her again, his hands warm and whispering _it’s all right, you can do this_ into her skin.

Cheryl’s box is empty, two indentations where rings once lay. One, she knows, is still on Cheryl’s hand, the one placed on her belly when she was arranged in her satin cocoon. She wonders if her widower still has his ring, or if it sits somewhere in another drawer.

Sandra’s box still has its rings, one larger than the other. Both are inscribed inside the yellow gold: _love someone_. There is plenty of space left for a name, if she’d had time to fall in love, time to make a life with someone.

“Maybe when Lee--” she whispers.

“He’d be honored,” Bill says.

They’re both waiting for the last box.

She can feel her parents’ presence in the room when she picks it up. With all the intrigue the Roslins had lived with, they had taken time to think about their daughters having a future, making a lifetime commitment.

_Love someone._

The same words are inscribed inside the rings in the box marked “Laura.” She looks at the diameters of the two rings in their velvet nest and knows one will fit Bill’s ring finger perfectly. The other will fit hers.

She has imagined (a few times, years ago) what a marriage proposal would look like.

What hers would look like.

A dinner out, a bended knee, a proffered diamond ring. A carefully rehearsed speech, the question, the answer. She hasn’t thought of that scenario in a long time.

Bill plucks the rings from the box, holds them up to the light, squints as he reads the inscription again. There’s plenty of room for “Bill” and “Laura,” he says, and makes a joke about the bigger ring having more space for letters.

He knows a guy, an engraver, who does good work. He can have the rings inscribed by tomorrow.

If that’s what she wants.

_If that’s what she wants._

She tilts her head up. His hopeful look holds no anxiety, no nervousness. She can feel his pulse in the hand still resting on her shoulder, his thumb stroking the back of her neck, and it’s steady, one beat following the next.

_Yes._

Yes, that’s what I want, she tells him. Call the guy.

It’s not the proposal she’d once imagined.

It’s better. It’s real.

_Love someone._

It’s all they’ve ever needed.

 

**************************

 

 

Forever feels different from a night, from a weekend.” Forever” is in the slow strokes and touches that feel like they’ve got all the time in the world. It’s in the pauses and breaks they take, the whispered speculation of new things to try.

It’s in the flushed admissions of things they’ve wondered about in “those” movies and never thought they’d do. And in the fumbling and awkwardness and one memorable topple off the side of the bed.

They finally have time to play.

And they know it’s a brief interlude, an illusion, and there’s an ugly reality waiting for them when they’re done.

But when he’s sinking so deep into her it feels like he’ll never stop, when she’s biting his shoulder leaving bruises in the shape of her teeth, when he’s frakking her against the foot of the bed so hard the vibrations knock a picture off the wall…it’s only them.

And it feels like forever.

 

*****************

 

On the third day, he makes a few phone calls and by noon there’s a priest in their living room, Saul and Ellen on one side, Lee and Kara on the other. She says her words and he says his, and she can’t imagine feeling more like a bride that she does at this moment.

Under her khaki shirt and her most comfortable pair of jeans, Laura is wearing the new white lace bra and white silk panties, and it’s perfect.

After everyone has gone, she finds that Bill dressed for the occasion as well. Her plain gold band catches the candlelight as she slowly draws the black silk down his thighs.

And it’s perfect.


	55. Fic: Caprican Chrysalis: Stage Five (One Wild Ride)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Weddings and dancing go together, but this wasn't quite what Laura had expected...

 

 

  
They've been married slightly less than forty-eight hours the first time Bill brings Laura to a strip club.  
  
He’s not back at the head of the huge carved table, but he’s not off the clock, he’s never off the clock, not as long as he’s president of the Outlaws. There is business that can’t wait, and their time of being alone and insulated is coming to a close. Everything will change when he walks back into  _Adama Automotive,_  back into the Tauron Outlaws’ space, and they both know it.  
  
Their fingers link together on top of the gear shift as he drives them across town to  _Tigh One On._  
  
  
  
************  
  
  
  
Laura has her impressions, her thoughts, her biases.  
  
Her preconceptions.  
  
But as she sits by this earthy, outrageous woman, too blonde and too flirtatious and too loud, her ideas start to twist and turn like the women in front of them.  
  
Ellen Tigh is chattering next to her, giving her stage names and pedigrees, pointing out a difficult move done with misleading ease. She is easy, relaxed with the girls, and they come up to share gossip or good news or bad news, whispering in her ear.  
  
Laura admits she had a different image of this kind of place. Strip clubs are sad sleazy hellholes where political careers can still be brought down with an ill-timed indiscretion, and she hopes her words aren’t offensive.  
  
Ellen is serious as a Libran judge when she nods in agreement.  
  
 _Some still are._  
  
She remembers a joint called “The Rose and Thorn” where the girls were too young, the expectations too high. Places like that leave a lot of wreckage, she says, and looks over at the bar where Bill and Saul are having a beer.  
  
Her smile comes back as she asks Laura if she ever danced, in a club, or in her room, watching herself in her mirror. If she ever felt the joy of that kind of movement.  
  
There’s just enough of her drink swallowed down for Laura to tell her about her belly dancing classes, the courses she took before she got too busy.  
  
Another drink downed and Bill joins her as she’s picking out old Leonan music from the DJ’s collection; tambourines and finger cymbals, flutes and different types of drums.  
  
The last civilian leaves (Laura wonders when, exactly, she started thinking of non-club members like that) and Ellen and some of the guys move tables around, clearing space. The dancers and the members and the Old Ladies and the prospects move in a circle, steps as old as Kobol legends.  
  
Both she and Bill are flushed, sweating, grinding together, moving apart, and he holds her hips, steadying her as she bends back until her hair brushes the floor.  
  
When she comes up, her head is spinning, and she’s in Saul’s arms, then Ellen’s, then back in Bill’s embrace. Kara whisks her into a series of turns, gliding her hip along Laura’s thigh before moving in front of Lee, mirroring his movements, head back and laughing.  
  
Laura has never been touched by so many people at one time before, people who don’t ask anything more of her than to enjoy herself. It’s beyond sexual. It’s what she imagines the first tribes felt, in some ancient celebration of life around a night’s fire.  
  
Ellen catches her eye, and she looks different in the flickering lights, there is something tribal about her as well tonight. Something beneath the flashy seductive clothes and the bright blond hair.  
  
Laura stumbles against Bill and he pulls her out of the crowd, big and broad and sheltering.  
  
 _Ready to go home?_  
  
She nods and they make their way out of the cinderblock building. The night sky is jet black and the constellations sparkle like diamonds. The stars flicker in time to the music she still feels in her breastbone.  
  
 _Home._  
  
When they make love that night, the music echoes in the movement of their hips.


	56. Caprican Chrysalis: Stage Six (One WIld Ride)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: New experiences blend with the old, creating a sum greater than their parts...

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
They’ve been married all of three days the first time he takes her out on the road, the mustang still snugged under its tarp in the garage.  
  
She’s been around his bike, other bikes, heard them in her drive, sometimes expected, sometimes not. It’s a sound that’s made her heart race with different feelings at different times. It’s been the soundtrack of funereal moments, of lost love returning, of one deceitful evening, over-rich with shame and lust.  
  
With the bike idling before her now, engine growling and Bill looking at her expectantly, the feeling that rises to the top of her consciousness is much more prosaic.  
  
 _How the frak does this riding thing work?_  
  
He’s told her the basics, given her step-by-step instructions until she felt like a ten-year-old. It seemed so simple back in the kitchen. So simple, next to the parked, silent bike.  
  
 _Your foot rests are here.  
  
Put your hands here.  
  
Lean like this, see?_  
  
She holds his shoulder for balance and swings her leg over the bike. In the brief second all her weight is on one narrow foot rest, it seems like a crazy, dangerous way to get from one place to another. Then she’s settled against the seat, against him, and leans her cheek against his broad leather-clad back. It still feels too open, too exposed and she knows she’ll need to sit up straight when they start moving.  
  
He's patient, this first time. Like he’s always been, with her. His blue eyes are as bright as the new gold rings shining on their left hands when he turns to look at her over his shoulder. He doesn’t have to say the words, that he’ll wait until she’s ready. She can read it in his look, the look that’s always been there, even when she couldn’t see it.  
  
A last quick snuggle and she pulls back to give him some space, settling her hands on his hips. She grips him white-knuckled-tight as they start off.  
  
The first ride is a short one, from the house to the club and back. It’s scary, and exciting, and she starts to get the allure. There’s no metal cage between her and the rest of the world. It’s all on her, and him, to keep themselves safe. She wonders if she should enjoy it as much as she does, so risky, so impractical...then the wind is rushing into her lungs and her nerves are singing with an adrenaline high, and she stops second-guessing herself.  
  
On the way back, she sits easier, and doesn’t hold him quite so tightly.  
  
  
  
*****  
  
  
  
The second time she rides on the back of Bill’s bike, they go an hour out of town, taking back roads into a wooded area so wild it doesn’t feel like it’s part of the same province that also holds Caprica City.  
  
She sits straighter this time, hands a bit lighter on his hips, the wind flowing over her face and making her squint. The rumbling vibrations begin to feel natural, like power and speed drumming into her bones. The scenery, the pavement, the cars on the road…everything seems so close, so real like this. She leans a little more easily into the turns this time, and the helmet doesn’t feel quite so hot and heavy on her head.  
  
The woods are cool and quiet after the engine is off, and the narrow trail, barely a track between tree groves, stretches empty before and behind them. The panniers hold a blanket, a soft cooler of sliced peppered beef, cheese and bread, and a box of decent Chablis.  
  
She teases him about the oldest cliché in the world, the stuff romance novels are made of.  
  
He watches her fluff up her hair, grinning as she bends, then tosses her head up to shake out the curls. He reminds her that things become clichés for a reason. And hadn’t his proposal, their wedding, been original enough?  
  
  
  
***********  
  
  
  
She’s almost forgotten what it’s like to make love outdoors. The ground’s a little rougher on her back than she remembers, but the play of filtered sun and shadows through the tall pines, the warmth, the light breezes make up for it.  
  
Everything seems so close, so real here, too. The sharp evergreen scent, the dirt embedded under her nails when she digs her fingers into the soft earth past the blanket, leveraging herself against him, the sun-soaked sweat cooling on their skin when they finally finish. Their breathing is hard, gasping, and their words are just fragments as they take time to just.. _.look_ at each other.  
  
She looks her fill at her husband, watches him do the same, like he’s memorizing the look of her, his wife.  
  
It shouldn’t make such a difference. But it does. And she sees him mesh the lover with the husband, weaving the past, present and future together in this most naked of ways.  
  
 _Even here, we’re married._  Half-drunk and hidden, frakking in the shadowy woods, there’s a sense that their union is blessed, their coupling in the mossy loam sanctified.  
  
He finally turns to gather their scattered clothes while she lies there, still watching him. She doesn’t want to waste a second of the time they have left, wants to collect every image of him she can get. She’s always loved the way his body looks. She loves the story it tells, with ink and scars. And the tale of this afternoon is lightly sketched into his skin as well, thin marks that will fade in a day or two.  
  
It’s been years since she saw scratches and scrapes like this along the long lines of his back. The elaborate ink lettering obscures the deepest of them now, the reds blending together.  
  
Maybe it had been the rough-barked tree she’d pushed him against, when she drove against him, over and over, her hands gripping his arms, then his hair, her mouth against his.  
  
Or maybe it had been her fingernails, when she was under him, and the forest had turned into a blur of want and heat as he rocked against her and she was scrabbling for any purchase she could find.  
  
She murmurs her speculations, and he grins and tells her the woods have given them some souvenirs to take home. When he packs the panniers, he wraps one small, perfect pine cone in a paper napkin and slips it in with the remains of their meal. She knows the next time she sees it, it’ll have a light coat of varnish, to make it last.  
  
Her shoulders twitch at the scrapes and scratches she’s collected this afternoon as well. The day has marked them both, in more ways than one, and the bolt of heat that thought engenders makes her smile.  
  
On the ride back, the roar of the engine travels up the frame, though the seat, and throbs between her thighs. It’s a delicious echo of their afternoon. Her hand are gripping his hips and she wonders what it would be like to be the one holding the handlebars. To be the one controlling the speed, the angle of the turn. A new and unexpected vision of the future opens up before her, a smooth and tempting open road. She can almost feel the throttle against her palm.  
  
Ten minutes away from the house, Laura decides she wants her own bike.  
  
Not every time. She runs her hands over his hips to the front of his thighs, then up his sides until she’s holding him again, warm and tight and solid. She wouldn’t want to give this up.  
  
But sometimes.  
  
She smiles against the emblazoned leather of his cut and thinks of them riding side by side, each aware of the other, each separate.  
  
Like two Viper pilots, tearing through black space.


	57. Caprican Chrysalis: Stage Seven (One Wild Ride)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The honeymoon's over. Time to find out what the daily Outlaw life is like...

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Her shoes look a little sad, one black shiny pump leaning against the other just inside her closet. Two weeks ago, she would’ve gotten ready for the day on auto-pilot: the shower, the hair, the makeup, then the stockings, the suit, the pumps. The briefcase, the binders full of policy drafts.  
  
At least the shower part stayed the same. And she’s getting used to a lighter hand with the hair, a freer hand with the makeup.  
  
She wasn’t expecting this having to re-think her morning routine. It’s not the honeymoon of Bill and Laura anymore, it’s not parties and picnics. It’s daily life at the Roslin-Adama home, and it feels like the first day of school. She’s trying to weave all the things he’s told her into a tight, sturdy whole, something she can point to and say, this is what my days will be like. What my life will be like.  
  
It’s like trying to put together a puzzle without looking at the box cover. She knows there’s a pattern to this life…work is done, money is earned (by various means), sometimes it’s cloak and dagger, sometimes it’s meeting the payroll.  
  
She reflects on Ellen Tigh’s sometimes maternal, sometimes sisterly gestures towards the club members, and Kara Thrace’s boisterous and risk-taking equality. She knows neither way of being is an exact fit for her. How “outlaw” is she expected to be? It rankles, thinking about always taking her cues from Bill, but there is so much she doesn’t know...yet.  
  
“Old Lady” could stand an updated job description.  
  
  
  
*********  
  
  
By lunchtime Laura’s had three cups of coffee, filled the pencil sharpener up with shavings, and adjusted the chair behind the office desk to her liking. Piles of papers, yellow, pink, and white are arrayed on the desk in various kinds of order.  
  
She has answered the phone six times so far, a professional “Adama Automotive Repair” at first, sliding down into a comfortable “Adama’s” as the day goes on. Bill grins at her expertise, and grins wider when Lee pauses as he walks through, saying “Looks like the lady’s in charge” to no one in particular.  
  
She’s getting there.  
  
  
  
************  
  
  
  
An afternoon lull finds her at the back of the club, the flush on her cheeks fading as she moves on past the hall bathroom. She glances at the computer screen in front of Felix Gaeta, and it takes her a second to realize what she’s seeing.  
  
Who she’s seeing.  
  
On the screen is Laura Roslin…it says so in the caption. When was her hair ever that mousy, her skin that tired? She moves closer, and tries to think when that picture might have been taken. Her jawline is soft and loose, and the circles under her eyes are hollowed and smudged. She runs an exploring finger over her jawline. The taut, supple skin feels reassuring.  
  
Felix slides back to let her read without leaning over his shoulder. It’s a short piece, the bare bones of her leaving government, her early retirement. It is as final as an obituary of someone who has no survivors to speak of.  
  
There is no mention of the good she’s done in her years of work. Nothing about educational reforms, or cultural initiatives…it’s a forgettable piece about a forgettable woman. She feels phantom pains in the palms of her hands and curls them into fists.  
  
 _Is that it?_  
  
She almost misses his apology. She’s still staring at the screen when he leans back in and pulls up another screen. She’s finally looking at herself again. This picture is of the real Laura, deep green eyes, healthy skin sculpted over clean-lined bones, a faint flush over her cheeks. Her hair is the same deep russet it was in her mirror this morning.  
  
Photoshop, he explains, and begins going into more detail than she needs as to how he aged her skin, her hair, helping the old Laura fade away.  
  
There are other pictures of me, she points out.  
  
Not for long, he reassures her, pointing at the moving bar running in the upper corner of the screen.  
  
She watches the bar fill with green, creating a chasm between Laura Roslin, Secretary of Education, and Laura Adama, Bill Adama’s Old Lady. She pats Felix on the shoulder and walks away before the program finishes.  
  
  
  
********************  
  
  
Her first day at Adama Automotive Repair ends twenty feet underground.  
  
The shop’s been closed for an hour when Bill brings her to the back corner bay. The light is dimmer back here, and there’s a light coat of dust on the car over the grease pit. She hears gears whining as the car moves, and Bill is first down the steel ladder bolted to the concrete wall. She climbs down after him, twitching as she feels his hand on her hip, steadying her. He hasn’t told her to be quiet, but she’s wordless anyway. Something’s coming that he would rather show her than explain, and it has her nerves humming.  
  
A sliding door moves in front of her, and she steps past it into a dank, dark space. He flips a wall switch with a sharp click. Light floods the space, almost blinding her for a second. There is a shy note of pride in his voice as he asks her what she thinks.  
  
If she knew, she’d tell him.  
  
The racks holding steel shelving go up to the ceiling. Some things she recognizes: pallets holding bottles of Tauron scotch are to her left, and the wire-framed fixture above her throws enough light so she can see the empty spaces where the tax stamps should be.  
  
An herbal scent has her brain murmuring “Chamalla in the raw” before she gets a conscious fix on it, from somewhere to her right.  
  
There is a stack of blocks there that remind her of the paving stones her father used around their flower beds. It’s been years since she’s seen anything but purified, extracted Chamalla formed into tidy pills, but she remembers the sweet, pungent leaves. Even wrapped into neat five kilo bricks, she can smell it through the plastic, and for a second, she’s a college freshman again, curiosity overcoming caution.  
  
These are just the front goods, he tells her, taking her hand and pulling her deeper into the space. Along the far wall, there are four people working at a long industrial steel table, three men and a woman. Their hands are almost a blur as they pull out small boxes from bigger ones, sorting, arranging the goods into identical bundles, the last man in the process packing the bundles into short plastic barrels. When Laura looks past them, she sees stacks of barrels, too many to count.  
  
Bill goes to the table and takes a bundle from the man doing the final wrapping, earning a snort for breaking their rhythm. He brings it back to Laura, and she sees that pride again in his eyes.  
  
Her own eyes widen as she recognizes the contents: there are pre-loaded syringes of anti-radiation medication...she’s seen more primitive versions of these in old war movies. Nutrition packs, an optimal balance of protein, fat, carbs and supplements. Ampules of antibiotics are boxed together with painkillers and bandages, and a bottle of stim-meds. A small, portable water filter, a set of nose filters, two pairs sized for children.  
  
Every month, he tells her, they equip their scattered holdings with more supplies. Every month, they improve the odds of whoever survives a little more.  
  
And the computer tablets? she asks, pointing at the shiny boxes labeled with bright primary colors, stacked six deep on the pallet in front of her. Is that part of survival?  
  
She has coveted one of these latest models, and if she’d still been working at her old job, drawing a minister’s salary, she’d have one by now.  
  
His jaw tightens and the harsh overhead light casts too many shadows over his pitted, scarred cheeks. He looks thuggish for an instant, then the light flickers, or maybe he just moves, and he looks like her Bill again.  
  
Yeah, they are, he says, beckoning one of the workers to take back the survival pack.  
  
This stuff’s not cheap. She knows that. And the tablets…she does the mental conversions, and guesses each tablet buys another ten packs. Her eyes squint as she tries to do the math of fencing stolen goods, and what the overhead must run.  
  
This is a new kind of accounting, a different way of budgeting than she’s used to.  
  
You gonna be okay with this? he asks, and she’s not sure if he’s asking about the new math or the new morals. Then she looks at the stacks of supply barrels, and imagines families, children she’s known, opening one of those barrels and feeling a rush of hope, maybe saying a prayer of thanks.  
  
She snugs an arm around his waist and breathes deep enough to catch his scent under the smell of dusty concrete and new plastic. A last glance around has her spotting empty shelves in the very back, and tells her there’s so much more work to be done.  
  
I’m fine, she tells him. I’ll be better after you walk me through the books.  
  
She’s catching onto this, starting to get what it really means to be Bill Adama’s Old Lady.  
  
It’s nothing she can’t handle.

 


	58. Emergence (One Wild Ride)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The chrysalis has served its purpose. The metamorphosis has given her wings, and it's time to fly.

  
  
  
  
  
                                                      
  
  
  
The store smells like animals, like cowhide, overly rich and too… _meaty_. She has jeans, she argues, and denim jackets, and there’s plenty of leather in her boots and belts. She doesn’t want to be that cliché, that biker babe, that woman in leather pants who looks like she’s trying too hard, a dime store dominatrix.  
  
He makes her say that last part twice, acting like he couldn’t hear, until she’s giggling and shushing him behind a metal rack of jackets.  
  
Trust me, he says, as the manager brings out black leather jeans, zipper-laden jackets.  
  
And vests.  
  
And gloves.  
  
She’s on her way to the dressing room when Bill hands her something between a bra and halter top, thin and soft but still jet black leather. That one’s just for fun, for us, he says.  
  
She pauses at the counter and snags a leather studded thong off a rack. There’s hardly enough there to warrant a hanger. As long as we’re having fun, she whispers, passing him in the narrow aisle.  
  
Her playful mood lasts until she tries on the first pair of pants. They’re too tight, she complains, zipping up the snug black jeans. Give it a little while, he says.  
  
By the time she’s on her second jacket,she’s becoming dubious about his advice. Everything is stiff and creaky when she moves, like leather armor. Her tailored business suits--her cloth armor, she supposes--were more comfortable than this, constricting as they were. She's not sure about this at all, this transformation...but she'll try.  
  
  
##############  
  
  
  
Sometime between the first wearing and the fourth, she realizes the clothes are perfect, The pants fit her like the second skin they are. The jacket still feels like armor, but armor that’s been crafted just for her.  
  
She likes it.  
  
Bill just smirks when he catches her looking at her reflection later, bending and twisting, making the clothes move with her. Yeah, babe, you look good in those, and you know it, he whispers, and the heat radiates from his hands to her ass. In that moment the leather feels thin as tissue.  
  
It all comes off easier than it went on. The leather thong slides to one side, rubbing, unfamiliar and enticing against them both. They bend and twist together this time, frakking against the foot of their bed. The black leather of the bustier rubs against her nipples like callused phantom fingertips until Bill pops the snaps and reaches underneath for her bare skin. Their scent mingles with the rich musk of the tanned hide.  
  
She learns to wear her leathers as she learns to ride her own bike, as she’s learned the other parts of this new life.  
  
  
  
##############  
  
  
  
 _That thinness was an illusion, thank the Gods,_  she thinks randomly as the world spins around her a few weeks later. Scattered bits of tree limbs and blue sky and clouds whirl high overhead.  
  
It’s the first time she’s laid down her Softail Deluxe, and she’s slowly sitting up after her spill on the graveled back road. The soft, supple leather holds up like iron, like the road armor it is.  
  
Bill runs his now-clinical hands over her body, moving, bending, gently twisting her limbs, feeling through the grey shredded places marring the black until he’s satisfied she’s shaken but uninjured. He points to his pillion seat, voice strained under the surface calm, and tells her to get on for the ride back. I’ll send the truck, he says.  
  
It’s the first time she remembers spitting in front of anyone, when she spits out the road dust she’s gotten in her mouth.  
  
I’m fine, she says. She tells him that a lot these days. Maybe he needs to see it.  
  
 _Maybe I do, too._  
  
Laura grits her teeth as she goes to pick up her bike. There’s still a little dust in her mouth--she can feel it grinding on her molars. She spits again as she flexes her hands under her gloves, flexes her knees under her leather jeans.  
  
She feels his anxiety as she starts the process of righting the Harley, bracing her boots against the hardpan road, grabbing the bike where he’d shown her. He moves to help her, but something in her look seems to warn him to let her do this on her own. He unclenches his fists and tells her she’s doing good, she’s doing it right, that's the way, she’s got this.  
  
Her butt is tight against the side of the saddle and her arms shake at first. Then her leg muscles and physics start working together and her small backward steps lever the bike up, up, until it’s fully righted and Bill is beaming with pride and relief. She puts the kickstand down and the bike stands on its own. She touches the handlebars, reverent and a little surprised, for all her confidence.  
  
 _I did it._  
  
She thinks it, then gives voice to the words, softly at first, then loud enough for him to hear.  
  
I knew you could, he says. Never thought you couldn’t.  
  
She’s not sure she believes that, but the respect in his loving voice is a balm to the places that are starting to sting and ache.  
  
Her reflection in the rearview mirror shows a trickle of blood under one eye, shows the scratches on her helmet. She wipes the smear away as she mounts her bike, starts up the engine and signals her husband.  
  
She’s ready to ride again.

 


	59. New Wineskins for New Wine, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Laura has made changes within herself since moving into Bill's world. Now she's ready to be an agent of change for others...including the club.
> 
> "It's a new dawn, it's a new day..."
> 
> “ _And no one puts new wine into old wineskins. For the wine would burst the wineskins, and the wine and the skins would both be lost. New wine calls for new wineskins.”_  
>  ************************

It’s 2:00 am and one of the phones is ringing, clattering against the nightstand. Bill answers and is sitting up in bed before Laura opens her eyes. She can hear the woman’s voice, panic fighting with rage.

When she hears him say “we’re on our way” she gets up and grabs the clothes she’d taken off the night before. This isn’t the first late-night call he’s gotten but it’s the first time there’s been a “we” in the reassurances. She’s still yawning when she pulls on her jeans. By the time she slips on her bra and pulls a clean shirt from the closet, she’s wide awake. Bill ends the call and punches in a number. In seconds he’s apologizing to the club’s attorney for waking her up.

Laura makes a drinking motion with her hand when Bill looks at her over the phone and he nods, the tension in his face ebbing for a few seconds. She buttons the plaid flannel shirt on her way down the stairs.

There’s still a cup or so of coffee in the pot from yesterday. She dumps it in the sink and starts a fresh, full pot brewing...it sounds like they’ll need it. She’s not sure if the “we” he’d mentioned was just her or if it would end up including some of the guys, but either way, sleep is over for the night.

She’s just finishing brushing her teeth in the downstairs bathroom when she hears his heavy booted tread on the stairs. He’s got her boots in his left hand.

“What’s going on?” she asks. She steps back into the kitchen and fills a thick china mug with fresh coffee.

He hands her boots to her as he takes the coffee she’s just poured.

“I’m gonna need you. Riley got arrested a couple of hours ago. His old lady’s not…handling it too well.”

She pours a mug for herself then leans against the bar, slipping her feet into her boots. She downs the cup faster than she likes, the hot burn carrying the caffeine she figures she’ll need.

“What can I do?” She tries to place Riley’s old lady. There’s been so many people to learn in this new world. All she gets is an image of light brown hair and a pregnant belly, a woman’s arm balancing a toddler on one hip.

_Darlene._ Not one who comes around much. Laura can’t remember ever seeing her smile.

 

*******

 

By 3:00 am, Laura’s got a chubby little sock-footed boy on her left hip, patting his back as she walks him back and forth in the cramped trailer. Darlene finally comes out of the bathroom, the tears of the past hour washed away.

“Thanks,” she says, taking her child back from Laura’s arms. Darlene is still sniffling a little but RJ isn’t scared of his mother anymore, like he was when they arrived. He's cooing contentedly, his stream of babbling toddler-talk slowing down to a few sleepy syllables as he snuggles against her side. She looks at Laura, curiosity in her reddened eyes.

“You’re good with kids. You got any of your own?”

Laura starts for a second, almost offers a reflexive response--they’ve only been married a couple of months, and she’s too old anyway—then stops. This scared, angry young mother is just trying to find out who Laura is, what she is. Maybe wondering if there’s anything in Laura’s background that might give them common ground.

“No, but there were times when it felt like I did,” Laura offers, and starts talking about her early teaching days. Darlene sits in the carved rocking chair by the sofa and rocks RJ back to sleep, her eyes going from Laura’s face to the clock on the wall as she listens to the soothing words.

 

**************

 

The sky slowly loses some of its dead-of-night darkness, moving from pitch black to pre-dawn gray.

RJ has been in his crib for an hour. Darlene lies curled up on the couch, under a blanket Laura spread over her when she finally gave in to fatigue. She’s gotten familiar with the tiny trailer over the past few hours—cramped, but clean and there’s an order to the stacked baskets of clothes and toys. The bookcase is child-high and the books look well-worn and loved.

_They deserve better._

She pokes around the shelf of books, feeling a little guilty at the intrusion. They need more picture books, maybe a few "early readers" by this time next year. She’s making a mental list (how many more RJs are there, in these Outlaw families?) when her phone rings.

Bill is stuck waiting a little longer, he tells her, but their attorney’s arranged bail and he’ll be back with Riley as soon as he can. Another hour, maybe two. He offers to have one of the guys pick her up, take her back to the house, if Darlene’s calmed down, if the little guy’s all right.

“I’m fine,” she says, looking at the sleeping woman on the couch. “I’ll wait here.”

She hangs up after a few more words and a distracted good-bye.

There's a cost to all this. While they take action for the greater good, the club's also creating some wreckage of its own.

Laura is washing the few dishes left in the sink when the first pink-orange streaks of dawn show over the horizon. _Somebody needs to make sure they’re okay_. The ones who don’t ride, but are affected by the decisions made by those who do.

The image of a sullen, scared boy comes to her mind. That could be RJ in another few years.

_Not if I can help it._

She’s missed feeling a sense of responsibility, of duty for herself. This is the other part of being Bill’s Old Lady. It’s not just the double sets of books, the front office, supporting her man. “Old Lady” suddenly sounds ancient, matriarchal, tribal.

When she wakes Darlene and says Bill is bringing her husband home, Laura accepts the sleep-warm hug and returns it with a silent promise.

_It’ll be okay._

_We’ll make it._

Another piece of what it means to be Bill Adama’s Old Lady clicks into place.


	60. New Wineskins for New Wine, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The new wine begins to flow through the club. Time to change the old wineskins for new...even if it means spilling a little blood.  
> .  
>  _"And can I sail through the changing ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life?"_
> 
>  
> 
> ***********************************************

Kara Thrace is no seamstress. She never learned to cut and sew at her mother’s kitchen table. This becomes more obvious every time she grumbles “Frak!” then takes a deep breath and sets her mouth for another try. She shakes her hand, loosening it up before slipping it back between the lining and leather.

“Take your time, Kara. Ease the needle through, don’t stab it.”

Laura’s fingers itch to take the vest and patches out of Kara’s hands and do it for her, but she’s altered club tradition enough already. She’s given Kara a workspace, showed her how to gently pick the lining seams apart, set out upholstery needles and black nylon thread. This part, the sewing on of club patches, members have to do themselves.

It took a lot to get Kara here, and Boomer when it’s her time, and the few other women who will sew Outlaw patches on cuts of their own. This part, she’ll leave to tradition. It's not worth fighting over.

_Fights_.... If she ever thought about it at all, Laura imagined her first big married fight would be about bills or dishes or whose turn it was to cook dinner. Voting rights in a motorcycle club…that wasn’t an argument she’d seen coming.

Then Kara had muttered “I coulda told you that” after a young father’s arrest, pointing out the route she would have suggested, if anyone had asked. Laura had taken her aside, asked her why she didn’t speak up when plans were being made.

“Wasn’t at the table, Laura. You know how that works.”

Laura knew exactly how that worked. Bill welcomed her input, he listened to what she had to say when issues came up. They’d talked out so many problems and strategies at the dinner table, or later at night, talking softly in the dark. He appreciated the research she did, the ideas she sketched out.

Then he’d go into the club church and the reinforced door would swing shut, men on one side, the voting side, women on the other, the side that waited.

_Well, frak that._

 

***************

 

Bill didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but he knew it wasn’t this.

Their first married fight was in their living room, her carefully reasoned arguments slamming up against decades of biker tradition. She was relentless, going so far as to bring up a surprising level of knowledge about Ha’la’tha organizational structure, of Tauron social constructs.

_She hadn’t been captain of the debate team in college for nothing._

Bill hadn’t known whether to be impressed or infuriated. The last thing he needed—the club needed—was drama over women at the table. He talked things over with her, relied on her insight. Wasn’t that enough?

“You’re telling me that all this planning, everything you’ve done for years, is to survive _this.”_ She’d jabbed her finger against the framed _Cylon War_ print, knocking it crooked against the wall.

“And you expect my help, Kara’s help…Boomer’s help, the other members’ partners…but you don’t want our vote.”

It’s just a symbol, he’d argued.

You’re godsdamn right it’s a symbol, and it’s a frakking important one, she’d shot back.

He’d walked out into the back yard then, letting the autumn chill and the starlight pull the heat from his flushed cheeks. He watched her through the living room window, the inside lights illuminating her, showing him her crossed arms, her unbending posture.

It would fly against everyone’s sense of tradition. There’d be questions of precedent, of what it would mean now, to be a member of the club. What would happen to “Can’t ride, don’t vote”? To patching in, to time spent as a prospect?

She began to pace back and forth, passing by the _Cylon War_ print each time, making it flicker to his eyes. The cold began seeping through his cut. He could see his breath for the first time this year, hanging in the air in front of him.

Time was ticking away, bringing the future closer every second.

There was everything she’d done already…and everything she’d be asked to do in the future stretched in front of him. Everything they’d all be asked to do.

This was about a lot more than a motorcycle club. This was the dress rehearsal for a future he could barely imagine, but had to be ready for. It wasn’t all about surviving in bunkers and hideouts, living off cached supplies. The time would come when they’d have to fight back...all of them. Patches and rockers wouldn’t mean anything then. Humanity would need all its members invested and battle-ready.

She had stopped in front of the window, and even with her face in the shadows, he knew she was looking at him, waiting. Waiting for him to get it through his head they were all in this together

He walked back into the warm kitchen, letting the door swing shut behind him.

There’s twelve worlds’ worth of clubs, all male, he pointed out. That’s a lot of tradition to go up against.

That’s a lot of families, too, she'd countered. Look at what you’re asking from them. How many Darlenes will you be able to prop up, when the time comes? How many RJs will grow up seeing the club as the enemy? The sympathy in her eyes was at odds with the steel in her words. This was hard for him to wrap his head around, and she knew it...but she’d push until he got it. Relief ran through him, warm and nourishing. He’d needed this, needed the balance she brought, that she would fight for.

I can’t pull this off on my own, he’d finally said, as he reached towards her, arms open.

You won’t have to, she’d said as she eased into his embrace, reaching up to hug him as tightly as a brother would.

_We’ll do it together._

There had been one last all-male vote, after a week of arguments, pro and con. Saul had griped they’d need a bigger table. But even he had said “aye” when the vote was called. Bill let his pronouncement of “the ayes have it” hang for a second, then slammed the gavel down.

Time for new ways, new blood.

_So say we all._

No one was surprised when Kara was the first applicant for membership.

 

*****************

 

“Godsdammit!” Kara yells, sucking the drop of blood off her finger.

Laura wants to tell her to just let her do it, hand it over, she’ll do it for her. She’s re-sewn a couple of Bill’s patches, put a couple of her own on her jacket. It’d be easier, quicker.

“Need a Band-Aid?” she says instead, sliding the box towards Kara.

Kara shakes one out of the box.

“You sound like somebody’s mom.”

_Not “my mom,”_ Laura notes, and she resists the urge to bandage wounds that aren’t hers to heal.

A half-hour later, the work is done, and Kara Thrace’s cut announces to the world that she’s a member of the Tauron Outlaws Motorcycle Club, Caprica Charter.

Laura finally unclasps her hands she’s been keeping in her lap while she watched Kara’s careful stitching.

She’s healing what she can.

It’s part of being Bill’s Old Lady.

It’s part of being Laura Roslin-Adama.


	61. New Wineskins for New Wine, Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Just another day in the life of the MC President's Old Lady...
> 
>  
> 
> _..she moves behind me / She leaves her fingerprints everywhere / Every time the snow drifts, every time the sand shifts / Even when the night lifts, she's always there"_
> 
> *****************************************

The old familiar ache at the back of Laura’s neck has returned.

She remembers this ache...it’s the one that settles in when work starts pulling at her from every direction.The phone won’t stop ringing, the mail’s only half-sorted, and the week’s invoices got shuffled when she had to jump up from her desk to break up a fight.

The clock on the wall ticks on, four o’clock getting closer and closer. It had been Laura’s nemesis all morning, but right now it feels like sweet relief. It’s good sometimes to say “I don’t have time for this” even if she knows it’s a temporary fix. School is out and the bus should be close to her house in another fifteen minutes.

She’s not even a little guilty about switching to voicemail with two hours left in the workday. And with a “don’t even think about frakking with me” look left over from her middle-school teaching days, Laura sends the brawlers to opposite sides of the outside lot with buckets, rags and soap. If either man has any resentful thoughts about being put on detail duty by Adama’s Old Lady, he keeps it to himself.

Bill has needed to back up one of Laura’s edicts only once. The miscreant had cut through five stitches holding his patch to his vest, eyes brimming, when Bill had relented. The skinny biker had waited for Laura’s nod of acceptance before he took his hand off his knife. His next child support check was sent a week early, with some extra by way of apology.

_We take care of our responsibilities. No exceptions._

_So say we all._

She twists her neck and shoulders into a long, gentle stretch as she does a final sorting of paperwork, then grabs her jacket. The ache’s eased up just enough. By the time she gets to her house, she’ll be ready to sit down again...this time, over a schoolbook. The brass bell on the door jingles brightly as she lets herself out.

_We take care of our responsibilities._

_No exceptions._

 

***************************

 

Leo Patrouski hates algebra. He’s no good at math, he’s told Laura that a billion times, and she won’t listen. Just keeps switching up how she tells him to work the problems.

It was better when his dad helped him. He could make Leo see how the numbers worked together, how they could tell you something you needed to know.

Dad’s served four months of a three year sentence at the state penitentiary. Mom works two part-time jobs. She was never very good at math and she’s too tired anyway.

The last time Laura came over with bags of groceries (and a check, although he wasn’t supposed to know about that) Leo and his mom were fighting about his report card. He was about to go to his room—his mom was yelling but her voice was doing that thing it does before she starts to cry—when Laura looked at his math book and said she remembered this. She had been smiling.

Leo’s mom quit yelling then, and she apologized to Laura because she’s Adama’s Old Lady (and because the club’s helping them stay fed and the check will make another car payment and Leo knows, although he’s not supposed to, that his mom’s two months behind).

Laura talks to his mom for a while, and the next thing he knows, he’s in the Adama’s kitchen three times a week, books about math piled on the table. There’s notebooks and a whiteboard and calculators and markers.

There’s patience, too.

Laura works problem after problem, asks him questions, pokes into how he thinks about math. The day he worked out how much it would cost to buy enough paint to re-paint his room (two coats plus the primer) she took him to the hardware store and bought everything he needed. His dad’s friend Helo and his Old Lady, Sharon, came over to help.

Leo doesn’t hate algebra so much anymore. When he goes to visit his dad next time, he brings a report card with a “B” in math. And a picture of his room, walls painted the same shade of blue as his dad’s favorite pair of jeans.


	62. Fic: Signs of Sine Qua Non: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: the Roslin-Adamas tailor old customs to fit their new life
> 
>  
> 
> _You are pulled from the wreckage / of your silent reverie / you're in the arms of the angel / may you find some comfort here"_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ****************************************

Laura switched off the overhead light in the living room and came to stand beside him at the window. The darkness made it easier to see the swirling snowflakes, illuminated in the yellow glow of the driveway light. They were forming a white winter coverlet over the last red-brown leaves of fall.

“Our first snowfall as a married couple,” she said, resting her chin on his shoulder and slipping an arm around his waist.

He turned to press a kiss to her cheek as he pulled her close against his side. “Sometimes it surprises me, how sentimental you can be.”

“Oh, because I’m usually such a hard-ass?” she quipped, raising one eyebrow.

“No,” he said, turning to face her, his features shadowed in the dark room. “Because you’re usually so…focused.”

She leaned into his chest, the tensions of the day easing as she felt his warmth radiating through his shirt. She had been focused on club family business non-stop, it seemed, for months. It felt good to just be still for a moment, gather some inner peace before the next part of the evening. She matched her breathing with his, coming into harmony with him as the world went on outside the window. Her eyes fluttered shut, the vision of drifting white flakes playing against her eyelids as she curved her palms against his back.

She was lost in other nights, other winters, when his voice rumbled through his chest, bringing her out of her reverie.

“We don’t have to do this tonight, if you want to wait.”

It was tempting, putting it off another night, avoiding the sadness a little longer. Bill had told her, a hint of guilt in his voice, that he hadn’t done this himself in years. They could go for a walk instead, bundled up, watching sparkling snowflakes catch in each other’s hair…

She shook her head against his shoulder. It needed to be tonight. It was the right time, the right thing to do. And her pragmatic side pointed out they'd already gotten everything together, laid out the cloth, the candles, the pictures and the scrolls.

“I’m ready. Let’s get started.”

He gave her a squeeze before letting go.

He needed this, too.

*****************

 

Their first Remembrance as a married couple went as smoothly as if they’d been doing it for years. Bill had set up her mother’s picture just where Laura would have put it, to the far left of the grouping, next to the crystal vase of five roses. She had been the first.

Laura ran her finger over the gilded edge of the frame. The picture had been taken before her mother had gotten sick. It had been high summer, and her mother looked like a carefree teenager, leaning against her new emerald Mustang, hair fluttering in a long-ago breeze.

The next picture was one of her father and sisters, smiles a little subdued. It was the first vacation they’d taken after Judith died, and the healing had finally started, but was still new to them all—it showed in their eyes, cautious in the happiness of the day.

“I hope this was okay,” he said quietly. “There were other pictures, but….” He didn’t have to say more. She couldn’t have handled seeing Cheryl in her wedding dress, Sharon in cobalt-blue chiffon next to her. Too much hope showed in those shots, too much innocence and trust in the future.

There was such a thing as too much remembrance. He understood, and had found the balance between too much and not enough. Gratitude suffused her veins as she watched him set the candles squarely in front of each frame.

Laura handed the next small frame to him, to be placed at the far right. The mat was as white as the new snow outside, the frame still shiny-new from the craft shop. Zak’s gap-toothed grin was broad and he looked like he was ready to burst into a full-bellied laugh. Bill had smiled when Laura confirmed that’s exactly what happened as soon as the shot was over, Lee mugging behind the school photographer, trying to crack his brother up.

“He held on, though, as long as he needed to.” The last word caught in her throat. None of them had held on as long as they should have. The pictures turned swimmy as her eyes began to fill.

“Guess you were the one who made sure he had a clean shirt and a decent haircut, right?” Bill’s voice had turned tear-husky as well. His Remembrance days would always be tinged with regret of how much he’d missed. She gripped his hand, giving comfort, grounding him to the now.

“It doesn’t matter, Bill. He had what he needed for picture day. Let the rest of it go.”

They lit the short, stubby candles together, both of them holding the taper as they moved from left to right. The flickering glow gave the appearance of movement to the still images, and for a few seconds they almost seemed alive.

The fireplace crackled behind them, the only sound in the darkened room. Finally, Laura took a deep breath and began.

“I want to thank you, Mom, for what you’ve given me, without which I wouldn’t be who I am today…” as she named off the qualities she associated with her mother, she felt the tears begin to slip down her cheeks. When she took another deep breath and looked at Bill from the corner of her eye, she saw identical tracks shining in the candlelight. She wiped her eyes and spoke to her father’s image, chest aching. She was finishing and opening her lips to speak of her sister when Bill’s voice took up the ritual, speaking longer than she had about Mr. Roslin.

“…and your trust in me, without which I couldn’t have kept the faith in my darkest times.” She thought he was finished, then he took her hand and brought it to his cheek, tear-damp and stubbled. “And for your daughter, without which”—his voice broke, then steadied—“Without which, my life wouldn’t be any kind of real life at all.”

When it came time to speak of her sisters, she was surprised to feel laughter bubbling up past the tears. They both had given her so much, her little sisters who had needed her big-sister care, then her forbearance as they grew into mischief and teasing. She found herself sharing stories she hadn’t thought of in years, taking comfort in Bill’s easy chuckles at her sisters’ remembered antics. He shared a few of his own, stories her father had told him over beers and sandwiches, talking about his girls.

Threads of their families wove and spun together as the candles burned low in their holders, the sadness and joy blending into one tapestry that shimmered, bright and full of life.

Bill began Zak’s Remembrance with words of being his father, then stopped, chest shaking. Laura knew the words were there, knew the selfishness of them was sticking in his throat. His death had brought them together, and that horrific reality was choking Bill’s words, turning his breathing ragged and coarse. She turned him towards her, willing his eyes to meet hers. If he could see Zak through her eyes…

“Thank you, Zak, for loving your father when he wasn’t around, for being so happy about going to see him. Thank you for your obvious need of your father, without which I wouldn’t have been brave enough to take you and Lee to see him in prison. And your sunny nature, without which that day would have been about all that was wrong, and we would have missed all that was good that day.”

The healing tears came then for them both, and they held on tight, finding their way through this most intimate of family rituals.

They had both made their own choices in life, decisions that led them to this day, this marriage, this path they were on. Laura knew that, accepting some of her choices, celebrating others. They would continue to make more choices, as things unfolded around them.

But one day a year, they would hold Remembrance.

******************************

 

“We don’t call it Remembrance, though. Not in pure Tauron tradition,” he told her later, as they walked through the falling snow, letting the icy flakes cool off their tear-flushed cheeks.

She had tucked her glove in her pocket so they could be hand in hand, feeling each other’s warmth. “But your customs…you do the same honoring, the same remembering, right?”

“Yeah, the essentials we received from our loved ones. We call it _Sine Qua Non,_ though. ‘Without which, not.’”

“Sine Qua Non?”

“Yep. Old Tauron.”

Laura turned and looked back at their house, warm and bright against the dark, snowy night. It felt full tonight, full of the spirits of those who had loved them, helped make them who they were today.

“Sine Qua Non,” she repeated, tasting the words again. It sounded less mournful than “Remembrance,” stronger, more powerful.

“I think I like the Old Tauron phrase better. Is it okay with you if we use that from now on?”

His eyes gave his answer before he said a word. Joy, pride, and love all shone deep in the midnight blue of his gaze.

“Gods, yes.” He brushed his thumb over her lips, warm against her snow-chilled skin. As he lowered his mouth to hers, she whispered the words again against his lips.

“Without which, not.”

His kiss began gentle and reverent, quickly deepening into heated passion, life-affirming and full of promises.

_Sine Qua Non…_ it’s for the living, too, she thought, as she returned his kiss, echoing his promise with ones of her own.


	63. Signs of Sine Qua Non: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Motorcycle clubs can't operate without money. Neither can resistance groups. How far is too far? "All this had happened before and will happen again."
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _"There is no political solution /_  
>  To our troubled evolution /  
> We are spirits in the material world"  
> *********************************************

The space heater in the corner of the office threw off just enough heat to keep her toes from freezing inside the stiff leather boots. _That frakking plate glass window…_ Laura turned from the computer screen to jot down a few lines in the loose-leaf notebook. Maybe with the next run to Scorpio, they’d net enough to get a double-pane window put in. One more thing to add to her list of things to bring up at the next session of church.

She was scanning through another page of images when Bill came through the door, face red from the cold. The day had been carrying the sting of threatened ice all day, sharper now that night was falling.

“Hi, sweetheart. Want some coffee?” She started to get up.

“I’ll get it, babe. Go on with what you’re doing.” He stepped behind her to the coffee pot and grabbed a mug off the shelf above it. “Want some? One more cup in the pot, looks like.”

He settled his mug-warmed hand against her neck, pressing against the tension knots under the skin. She was ready to purr it felt so good.

“Not this late. But a big glass of red wine when we get home….” She tipped her face up at him, rubbing her chin against his knuckles. “I could use some thawing out.”

“I ever make you my Tsattie’s mulled wine?” The lines around Bill’s mouth softened and she realized with a pang that he was carrying around plenty of tension himself. “A little bit sweet, a little spicy, nice and hot….”

“Sounds like the start of a lovely evening.”

She shut the notebook and shoved it under the in-basket. It sounded like the work day was over, and that was fine by her. She rose and turned to face him, sliding the chair out of the way. Leaning forward, she brushed her lips against his, then snuggled against him.

It was the warmest she’d been in hours.

“I just need to finish up here.” She pressed against him a final time before sitting back down, reaching for the mouse.

He leaned over her shoulder, angling the monitor a little more towards himself. “What’re you working on?”

She tugged the monitor back, hit a few keys, and began shutting it down. “Just a personal project. Nothing club-related.”

He reached down and covered her hand with his, stilling her movements. “Not using an open network, are you? You know how I feel about that.”

“We all know, Bill.” She pulled away and continued the shutdown, saving a few image files first. “Felix hardened this one last week.”

She listened to him set the now-empty cup aside to be washed in the morning, then start to gather the day’s receipts for the evening’s deposit. The monitor finally went black.

“You want me to run this by the bank?” He held up the dark blue plastic pouch.

The window rattled in its frame as the wind picked up. She slipped into her jacket, grateful she’d brought her new wool scarf. She was even more grateful he’d suggested bringing her car today instead of her bike. She plucked the envelope from his hand. “I’ll take care of it. You go on home, get that mulled wine started.”

Running a finger down the front of his shirt, she gave him a suggestive look. “Sweet, hot and spicy, hmm? I can’t wait.”

His gaze raked over her, lingering at the deep cleavage revealed by her low-cut sweater. “I think you’ll like it like that.” Grinning then, he swatted her bottom as he moved away. “Think you’ll like the wine, too.”

Laughter bubbled up in her throat. It sounded so good, felt so good to be with him, flirting, talking over the day’s business, letting herself relax into his world. There were a few more details she needed to take care of, one special detail to feel like she fully fit into her new life. And she was well on her way to getting that done.

They left together, locking up the file cabinet, safe, and drawers before finally locking the front door. Their breaths were white puffs against the darkness as they walked to where the car and bike were parked.

“Your project…is it for your tutoring?”

She stopped at her car. “No, it’s for something else. Why would you think it was about that?”

He began adjusting his helmet. “The images I saw looked like pictures of books. Figured it would have something to do with teaching.”

“I’ll show you when it’s ready, Bill.” The images ran through her mind, colors and designs swirling together. She’d know the perfect image when she saw it, but she wasn’t prepared to share her thoughts quite yet. She cranked the key and the engine came alive with a low growl.

“See you at the house,” she called through the lowered window.

“Love you, babe,” he called back, swinging his leg over his ride.

She shook her head and gave him a wry grin. “We’re going to be together in a few minutes, you know. I’m just going to the bank.”

His grin gleamed in the shadows of his helmet. “Still love you.” His engine roared as he twisted the throttle.

“Love you, too.” The words had finally started sounding natural, normal to her ears. This is how life was now, she supposed. That phrase he’d used the other day…sine qua non…it wasn’t just for remembering the ones who’d passed on.

It was the title of their story, the name of their path. It always had been. Thoughts of scrolling script and weathered books whirled in her mind as she finished her errand and headed towards home.

 

****************************************

 

She could smell the spices as soon as she walked in the door. Cinnamon and nutmeg, backed with a lush note of jammy red wine. Bill was standing over the stove, chef’s apron tied around his waist, studying the contents of the pan in front of him.

“That smells fantastic.” She went to stand next to him, watching as he stirred. Plump raisins and dried cherries swirled in the pan in eddying circles.

“It just needs to steep a little longer.” He untied his apron. “Let’s go in your dad’s office a minute. Got something to show you.”

“Bill, you know it’s okay if you say it’s your office, or our office now. It doesn’t have to stay ‘Dad’s office,’ you know.”

He shrugged as they started down the hall. “I know. It feels disrespectful to say it any other way, I guess. There’s so much history in there.” He pushed the door open. “I added some more today.”

She walked in and stopped in her tracks, staring at the boxes stacked in front of her father’s desk. Boxes that hadn’t been there this morning when she’d passed by on her way to the shop. They looked old, layers of dust clinging to the surfaces in spots. Black tape with red warning icons were wrapped around each one, the colors faded and dull. She moved closer and saw the red-outlined word that had been stamped on the top of each box: DESTROY.

She opened her mouth to ask what he’d brought into their home, then her eyes fell on the object on top of the desk…and she knew. The dust from the boxes seemed to catch in her throat.

As he began to explain, she shook her head. There were some things she couldn’t do in this space. She guessed maybe it was still her father’s office, after all.

“Bring it back in the kitchen. I think I’d rather hear this over a cup of that wine.”

Nerves jangling, she walked ahead of him. She had plenty of questions, but she didn’t want to go into them here. It felt like there were hundreds of eyes watching.

 

*********************

 

The wine helped. He was right, it was rich, sweet, and spicy. She just wished she’d been in a better mood to enjoy it. She knew that sometimes he had to work fast, and there wasn’t always time to debate everything. And she knew they needed the money.

The club had voted last week to fund flight training for two members while they gathered a stake to buy a light spacecraft. Commercial transportation costs had jumped up again with Adar’s latest travel tariff. She’d been at the table, raised her hand to vote her approval. She’d had to leave early that night, she remembered…one of the kids calling in a panic about an upcoming test, pleading for one more review.

She knew she’d missed some planning that night, but figured it was nothing she couldn’t catch up on later. If she’d known what was being considered…. She stared at the object on the table between them. It looked so wrong sitting there.

“You know, I’ve never seen one. I’ve seen pictures, and there was a special on the history channel a few years ago, but—“ She looked at him, lips drawn and tight. “I thought they were all destroyed.”

Bill poked at the metal rim. “Me, too. I used a military-issue one a few times in the war. They were bigger, though. Heavier. The recreational ones, though…this is the first one I’ve seen.”

The holoband looked innocent enough, like some sort of electronic vision augmentation device. The row of lights across the front were dark. She’d heard the stories, the addictions they caused, the chaos. They’d been taken off the consumer market before she’d been born, the stuff of cautionary tales and horror stories.

“I thought storage companies auctioned off the contents after so long.”

“My uncle had automatic payments set up from one of his off-world accounts. I guess as long as the payments kept coming nobody thought much about it.”

She cocked an eyebrow at what was being left unsaid. _Especially when a Ha’la’tha enforcer was involved._

“And there’s a market for these, after all this time? I don’t get it. There’s no content anymore. There hasn’t been for decades.” Her forehead wrinkled. “Unless somebody’s making it illegally.”

She groaned as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Of course someone was generating content illegally. Why else would these relics be in their house right now?

Bill’s sheepish look told her she was on the money. “Some wealthy old men miss the porn of their youth, I guess. I had Saul do some discreet reaching out, and the cubits these would bring…it’s incredible.”

The holoband took on a more sinister look as she contemplated it with this new information.

“Just porn? Are you sure? What if people start programming their loved ones’ memories again? Could you resist that kind of temptation? I don’t know if I could, to be perfectly honest.”

She looked over at a picture of her sisters, laughing and holding up two fresh-caught fish, a long-ago summer vacation. She let her eyes play over their faces, imagining what it would be like to talk to them again, feel like they were alive, touchable, huggable. A shudder ran through her. What should have been comforting instead felt ghoulish and wrong. And the technology to record and store brain data had been outlawed along with the bands.

Laura was fiercely glad about the ban, the more she thought about it. It was too easy to imagine sitting in a dirty apartment, days-old dishes scattered on a coffee table. Oblivious and jacked in to a time before her father and sisters were killed, letting the real-time hours slip by.

Or Bill, in stained clothes and needing a shave, playing with Zak again and again in his head, a loop of ball games and bike rides. How much would ever feel like enough?

“I don’t like this, Bill. I get we need the income, but this feels really wrong.” She shoved the band away with her index finger. The metal was sleek and cool to the touch.

He slouched in his chair, hands in his pockets. Weariness showed in the lines of his face. “We’ve been approached to mule some contraband to the outer planets. Saggitaron, Canceron, possibly Aerilon. Stim-dust, mostly. Maybe that new enhanced opiate strain, too. I guess that’s an option.”

She mirrored his resigned slump. She didn’t like that, either. The risk to the club was high, and every successful run would mean families pulled down, new addictions being born. She wished simple thievery and illicit herb could be enough to keep things going, then snorted at her changed way of thinking. _What’re the worlds coming to, when fencing stolen goods and weed couldn’t support a club?_

She guessed the bands were a little cleaner than the other options. And they needed the cubits.

“The club approved this?” She finally picked up the band, turning it over in her hands. It was lighter than she expected.

“Yeah. I can call for another vote, tell them you didn’t give a proxy….” His mouth quirked down. The inclusion of Old Ladies and female members was still new. Laura could follow his thoughts easily enough. They couldn’t afford to give the impression the president’s Old Lady could put aside voted-on decisions _ex parte._

“No, Bill. The club voted on this. And you always have my proxy.” She finally smiled and covered his hand with hers. “Guess I should have made that clearer.” She squeezed his fingers before moving her hand. “How would you have voted it?”

“Same as mine, Laura. I would have voted ‘yes’.” His eyes were fixed on the band dangling from her loose grip. “We didn’t go looking for these, you know. It just came to us. And right when we really need more income.” He frowned as she fidgeted with it.

“Careful with that. Felix got it running this afternoon, see what it could do. It’s live.”

As he spoke, her fingers hit the recessed power button. They both watched as the green light began to glow and run along the front.

“What…what does it pick up?” she asked reluctantly.

“He says there’re a couple of channels that stream in. They’re kind of fuzzy and choppy, but he said it was enough to show it worked.”

She wasn’t sure if it was curiosity or obligation to know what she was agreeing to, but she found herself lifting the band to her eyes. It seemed warmer with the power on.

“Laura, I don’t think—”

His voice faded in her ears and the room seemed to fall away. She was in an empty hallway with doors on both sides. She turned, and the motion felt natural. She startled at seeing someone in front of her in the hallway. This wasn’t real, she told herself.

The tall blond woman in red gave her a seductive smile.

“Hello. What would you like to do today?”

She could smell a light, slightly musky perfume, felt the movement of air as the woman moved closer.

“I don’t—you’re not real,” she stammered. Laura had thought it would be more like watching a vid, a tv show. But this woman looked as alive as she did. She was close enough to see the pores of her skin.

“I’m real enough,” the woman said, soft and sensual. “See?” She reached out to stroke Laura’s arm with slender fingers. It was definitely a woman’s hand. The skin was smooth and supple, no trace of the calluses Bill always had. Laura reached out to the woman’s bare arm, touching it lightly with the tips of her fingers. The flesh gave just like the real thing, warm and silken. She could feel something like life within.

The woman seemed to take this as encouragement and moved closer. Laura might as well have been rooted to the indistinct ground under her feet. This couldn’t be a simulation. She was too vivid, too…present. The light perfume grew stronger and she could feel the other’s breath on her face.

“I like—” The woman’s eyes went blank and she halted for a split second, then seemed to animate again. “I like women with red hair and green eyes.” She drew closer. Her lips had just started to brush Laura’s when everything changed again. She blinked at a worried-looking Bill, now holding the holoband in his hand.

“Are you okay? You were so still. I was getting worried.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. There was this woman….” She rubbed her fingers against her lips. She could still smell the woman’s scent, imaginary or not.

“Bill?”

“What, baby?” He got up and came to her side of the table, cupping her shoulders with his broad palms. She leaned into him, breathing in his familiar scent as his arms went around her back, then up to her hair.

It was the wine, she told herself, as she shifted against the sudden surge of heat she felt between her thighs. The wine and the fire, and… _oh, frak._ Artificial or not, that had been arousing, unnerving as that thought was.

“We’ll be able to name our price, won’t we? If that was just an intro stream, before any real specifications are made…my gods.”

His fingers slipped down to the pulse along the side of her neck. “Whatever you saw, seems like you liked it. Your heart’s racing.” His voice held a touch of amusement. The sound of him was a balm to her jumping nerves, promising safety and satiation in equal parts. Desire flickered through her belly, then lower, flashing though every inch of her.

She stood up and pressed herself into his arms. “Feel like doing something about that? We can pick this up later.” She wanted him…and she wanted to return to how life was an hour ago, before she saw the dusty boxes.

The green lights turned dark again as Bill pressed the button. His chuckle was low and sounded a little relieved. “Yeah, I feel like making love to my wife. How’s that sound to you?”

He caressed the line of her jaw with a light touch that made her shiver. She pulled him closer, needing to feel the realness of him against her body, the thudding beat of his heart next to hers.

The rough surface of his skin, the place where he’d cut himself shaving yesterday…all the imperfections were there than made him a living, breathing human being.

There had to be a difference between programmed illusion and the real thing. His kiss tasted like cinnamon and wine, and his moustache, coarse and so familiar, rasped against her upper lip. The idea that electrical impulses firing in her brain could feel anything like this was abhorrent. It felt like a lie come to life.

“That sounds perfect,’ she said, sighing against his cheek. She cupped his beginning erection as she kissed him again.

The blue of his eyes deepened, lust-filled and hot. “I don’t know about ‘perfect’ but I’ll do my best,” he said, bending and scooping her up into his arms.

The joy, the sheer spark of fun mixed with love in his gaze was uniquely Bill. No program could duplicate this. The woman had been beautiful, but Laura had felt like she could have been anybody. Laura Roslin or Jane Doe…it didn’t matter. Not to the elegant ghost in the holoband.

He was clumsy in his haste to pull her sweater over her head, and he caught her bra strap in her hair when he tugged it too quickly off her shoulders. She giggled and he stumbled, off-balance, and they collapsed in a tangle onto the couch. They weren’t the stuff of programmed fantasy…they were too wild for each other in that moment to display any graceful, erotic moves. It was fevered coupling, all the promises of the day played out in a rush to shattering climax.

It was exactly what she wanted, the giving and receiving of passion in a gloriously human cycle.

 

******************************

 

Later, blissful and loose-limbed, they curled together, finally having made the move from the couch to their bed. His breathing had slowed as he drifted towards sleep, and her eyelids were drooping as well. Something was nagging at the back of her mind, though, past the satisfaction suffusing her body.

“Honey?”

“Mmph…yeah?” he mumbled, obviously on the edge of sleep.

She bit her lip. This had the potential to be awkward, but she had to ask.

“Did you try the holoband before I got home?” She counted out the beats until he answered.

“Yeah. Just to see if it really worked.” He sounded more awake now.

“What’d you see? What program, or whatever?”

“Well…it was pretty generic.”

“Bill…” she put an edge into her tone. She was dying for sleep herself, but she needed to hear this.

“It was a woman, okay? A blond woman. It was an intro stream, like you said. Very basic.”

“Did she…did you touch her?” She held her breath. Maybe people had different sensitivities to these things.

“Laura, the only thing being streamed anymore on those channels is porn. Of course she did. She started touching me and I pulled the band off.” His voice shifted from annoyed to tender. “There’s just one woman I want touching me, and she’s right beside me.”

She wiggled a little closer, her arm curving over his chest. “What was she wearing?” she said, stifling a yawn against his skin.

“Some kinda red dress. How come?”

The shiver was so slight, she doubted he noticed. How many copies of the blond woman were out there? Would she be appearing to anyone with the cubits to buy a holoband?

“Just curious.”

She was being silly. In any given month, the Nymph centerfold girl had thousands of people fantasizing over her, the same woman in every horny reader’s dreams. This wasn’t that different…not really. She pushed the eerie vision of an army of blond women in red dresses out of her mind and snuggled her face against her husband’s neck.

Helping to unload the holobands as fast as possible would be her new goal. Like he said, they needed the money.

And she wanted those things out of their house.

She was almost asleep when the words “Sine Qua Non” scrolled through her half-conscious mind like credits following a horror movie. Bill’s words of love were whispered in a voice slithering between deep red lips, over bone-white teeth.

_That Which Not._

The holobands and their soulless, impatient technology, without which the Cylons would never had been created.

Without which, there would never have been a war. Or war-weary veterans turned resistance-bent outlaws.

_You, Laura, and those like you are our Sine Qua Non. Without you, we wouldn’t exist._

She turned restlessly and flipped her pillow over, curving her back into his sheltering chest. An over-active part of her brain was trying to turn their special words into something perverse and mocking. She made herself think of stylized books and calligraphy script rendering the words beautiful again, and when she finally drifted into a deep sleep, she dreamed of the image that would pull all the parts together.


	64. Outlaw Intermezzo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: In the places in between, there's still work to be done. No down times for outlaws or Old Ladies, especially if they want to keep riding
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _"All the federales say / They could have had him any day / They only let him hang around / Out of kindness I suppose"_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ************************************

The first time Laura lies to a police officer, she stumbles over the words, feels her face flame. When the questions turn increasingly probing, she sits, silent, mind racing. It’s harder than she expected. She’d thought her time with Richard would have prepared her better. Maybe it’s the uniform. 

The heat in her cheeks and along her jawline ebbs and flows as she answers. Not as bad as hot flashes but enough to be a tell. She inwardly cringes at her flawed pacing, her over-explaining. 

The man in front of her sighs, then breaks into a raspy cough. His uniform is musty and hangs on his age-bent frame, and his badge is dull and dented. He’s dug into the back of his closet for this bit of play-acting. 

“You’re gonna have to do better than that, sweetheart,” he says as soon as the coughing fit subsides. 

It’s going to happen sometime, Bill had said. Practice makes perfect. It’s not so different from any other public speaking, she supposes. She tries to block out the sunlit kitchen, the soft, worn grain of the long table, and imagines a dingy, cool room with a two-way mirror and steel furniture. 

She starts again, firming up her answers in her mind, making them real. 

_He was at home with me._

_No, I’ve never seen that before._

_I just work the front office._

_I don’t know anything about that._

When she is able to ask for an attorney as easily as she used to ask a barista for a tall latte, extra shot, one sugar, they quit for the day.


	65. Signs of Sine Qua Non: Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Laura finds a way to express her own "Sine Qua Non"
> 
>  
> 
> _"No, I'm no angel / No, I'm no stranger to the dark..."_
> 
>  
> 
> ********************************************

                      

 

It was an odd sensation, a tingling at first, just under the skin. An awareness that came to her at odd times, in the shower, in the last seconds before sleep. Just the one spot, high and on the left. It nagged at her, the familiarity of the feeling. She was dusting the bookshelves in their living room, trying to work off some nervous energy when it hit her, what it reminded her of.

_Wings._

It had been the summer of the second year of Richard. Laura had picked up and put down three books on the “must-read” list that summer, each one mirroring her own life too closely. And although the heroine came out on top in the end, as they usually do, there had been infidelity in each one, a mistress or a girlfriend or a clichéd one-night-stand.

Things always ended badly for those characters. She didn’t need to read the novelization of that kind of angst. Living it was more than enough.

She had turned to the Young Adult section of her favorite bookstore that summer, and escaped into stories about myths and gods and dystopian sagas. No one was married, no one cheated, and heartbreak was over kisses and hugs. Those had been a balm of escapism. And there had been one book she had particularly liked.

She couldn’t remember if the girl got the boy in the end, or why the evil corporation had experimented with bird DNA, but she remembered the protagonist finding out she was growing wings. That’s what this felt like, a twitching, a _becoming_ , a feeling something was unfolding under the skin of her left shoulder.

An opening…to something new, to an adventure, to something waiting to be discovered. Images from her research clicked through her mind like a slideshow as she stood there, dust cloth forgotten in her hand. Books, stacked in untidy piles, bright-colored spines. Books, with titles embossed on the cover in flowing gold letters.

They both had always loved books. The dry papery scent of decades-old books faded and she was on the riverbank she had come to think of as theirs, as Bill and Laura’s, and the fragrance of irises and lilies and river reeds engulfed her, sweet and fresh.

He had been reading to her one afternoon, early in their time together, sprawled out on a faded blanket. She couldn’t remember what he’d been reading—she’d been concentrating on the sound of his voice and watching his mouth, wondering if he’d kiss her before the day was over.

And then he’d stopped, and his gaze had been so earnest, so serious, she almost missed the nervous lick of his tongue over his lips. She knew, then, how the rest of the afternoon would go. He’d plucked a tall tiger lily from the patch by their spot and stuck it in the book, marking their place. It had reminded her of a poem she’d studied in her literature class that year, scorching-hot passionate sex described by the innocent line, “that day we read no more.”

She saw again the open book, the long-stemmed flower laying in the center right before he closed it. Right before they themselves “read no more.” The tingling grew stronger, radiating sensation in a path straight to her clitoris, following the tentative glide his fingers had finally taken after the kisses and licks and suckling had become too much and not enough.

This was it. This was what had to be. And it had to be at that exact spot. Her history and her body were conspiring to tell her the same immutable fact.

This was it, and it was time.

Cleaning forgotten, Laura sat down at the coffee table and took her pen to the back of an envelope. The sketching came slowly at first, then quicker, bringing memory and imagination together. Finally, she finished a last swooping line, and sat back to look at it as one piece. Frowning, she added a set of words, then another, scratching notes at one side for color and font.

_Yes._

She stopped then, sure that one more line, one more change would be too much. As she picked up the phone to call Bill, the tingling subsided, and became a welcoming warmth, open to what was to come.

 

 

*******************************************

 

 

He tries to tell her about the process on the way to the first visit. It hurts, he tells her. It itches for a couple of weeks after. She doesn’t have to do this. Her skin is perfect in his eyes, just the way it is. This isn’t necessary.

_Really_ , she tells him, drawing the word out, making her statement questioning and a little sarcastic, like she would answer a student making excuses for homework not done. _I-don’t-believe-you_ and _do-I-look-stupid-to-you?_ mixed together. She pulls up his sleeve and traces the “L”, then the “Z”, and finally the Viper pilot tat with her finger.

Not necessary? _Really?_ she asks, her challenge embedded in her tone. He captures her finger with his hand, starts to say something she knows will hurt and anger her all at the same time. Before he can say “that’s different” or something similar, she kisses his words back into his mouth in the seconds it takes the traffic light to turn from red to green.

By the time he introduces her to the artist, any hesitancy he had is gone. He trusts both of them and it shows.

The artist is impossibly picky, she thinks at first. He is young and skinny, and his shoulder-length hair is pulled back into a neat French braid tight against his scalp. She drops her stereotypes one by one as she looks through his portfolio, as she notes the diploma on the wall proclaiming him a graduate of one of Caprica’s finest schools of the arts. His own inked sleeves peek out from under the cuffs of his thermal shirt.

She flips another page of his portfolio and sees a solid black field of ink on a man’s back, vaguely retaining the shape of the Outlaw tat she sees every day on her husband. The man in the photograph has his head bowed, maybe in shame, or despair. She looks at the young artist with new appreciation and he doesn’t seem so young anymore, at least not around the eyes. His art gives, but his art also takes away. She wonders if he’d ever imagined that, sitting in a classroom in front of an easel.

It takes longer than she expected, matching the colors her mind has provided with the myriad bottles of ink, getting the details right. Two visits, one mock-up for positioning, a half-hour debate on shadowing and perspective. She’s sure she’s pulled something in her back from the twisting in the mirror, trying to make her brain see a reverse-reverse image.

She starts small, on paper, and it grows as he transfers the image to her skin, the black fine-point felt tip dipping lower, higher, wider in the artist’s hand. When she feels the first tickles of temporary ink on the back of her arm, then the side, she starts to shake her head, then stops. _It’s right,_ her skin tells her. _There’s more to this that you know._

_Let it come._

_Let it be._

She stops second-guessing what her heart is trying to tell her through her flesh and lets the man work in peace.

She wants to hurry him, wants to tell him to just start already. Bill has listened to her describe what she’s after, he’s looked at the sketches, the temporary stain, and he’s told her he loves it. He doesn’t really get it, though, not like she does. It pushes her more, that the only way he can see it, really see it the way she imagines, is to have it in front of him, the real thing.

On the day it all becomes real, he’s as sure as she is. It shows in his careful folding of her shirt when she takes it off, his thorough examination of the template on her skin.

She’s ready. They all are.

The sting of the vibrating needles is sharp at first. She concentrates on taking deep, even breaths as she leans her chest against the back of the chair, right arm wrapped around the headrest in a death grip.

He starts low, in the meat of her shoulder. The sensation winds tighter as he moves, breaking into a bone-deep ache as he goes over and over one patch of skin covering the spine of her scapula. She pants, squeezing Bill’s hand and focusing on a piece of flash art up on the wall, Caprica seen from space, all blues and greens. It’s beautiful and distracting, and she lets herself fall into it. He finally, mercifully moves off the bony ridge.

Something changes mid-way through, and when the artist asks if she needs a break, she doesn’t hear him at first, then shakes her head when she does.

_No. Keep going._

Bill tells her it’s endorphins kicking in, a biological reaction, and he holds her right hand, rubbing the back of it with his thumb. Laura closes her eyes and hums a disagreement, careful to keep still.

It’s her body welcoming the ink, inviting the words into her skin. Everyone she loves is now part of her forever.

It takes a second to realize the buzzing has stopped, there’s no more pressure, there’s just heat, like the sun is shining on this one patch. She looks at it in the hand mirror, and can hardly believe it’s over, it’s real, it’s complete.

She’s complete.

The power of it is more than she imagined. She catches a glimpse of her face in the mirror and she’s flushed and grinning. She’s crossed a finish line of sorts, and her trophy’s in her skin.

 

***************

 

It begins as an open book, antiquated, in colors of sepia-gold and faded brown. The open page is headed with “Sine Qua Non,” black Caprican letters with the look of Old Tauron script.

The text is small; Bill has to be within two feet of her to read the lines. Her mother’s name, her father and sisters, Zak, all done in black typeface, the kind used in old classical books.

His name, her name, and Lee’s are done in a flowing cursive script, with flourishes at the ends. The ink varies, the lines done in purple, blue, and green.

There is plenty of room left for other names, other words.

In the center of the book lies a long-stemmed tiger lily, with a few faded petals, other petals vibrant, and a couple of buds just beginning to open. Bill tells her it reminds him of reading books by the river, grabbing a flower from the wild beds on the bank to hold their place when they stopped reading. The artist ignores their shared look and the nostalgic smiles they give each other.

The piece sits high on her left shoulder, the stem flowing, vine-like, down the back of her arm to curve around her bicep. The coloring heightens down the length of the stem, and the tattoo artist adds touches of white and black to give it dimension and shape. It is long enough to add more blossoms, more leaves, if she wants.

Bill stares at her shoulder after, longer than she expected. His eyes are glassy with unshed tears and she feels the same way, watching him. His face is so unguarded, so open it hurts. His speech is a jumbled mess of pronouns at first, _You_ and _They_ and _He_ and _I._ He puts his arms around her lower back, careful to avoid her fresh, colorful wounds. He holds her while the artist tapes plastic wrap over the ink. Laura is suddenly exhausted and rests her head on Bill’s shoulder while she listens to the two men discuss aftercare and ointments.

Later, when the tattoo is healed and she wears tank tops in the summer heat, the children she tutors will sound out the _Sine Qua Non_ and ask what it means.

They'll sound out the names, and ask who they are.

The telling will get easier each time.

 

 

                                                                        


	66. Seeking Shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Bill and Laura fall into something almost like a routine...as long as they don't think too hard about what they're really doing, or what it all really means
> 
> _"Oh, a storm is threat'ning / My very life today / If I don't get some shelter / Oh yeah, I'm gonna fade away / War, children, it's just a shot away / It's just a shot away"_
> 
> **************************************

It’s the first time in months she’s put on a pair of pantyhose. Her fingernail snags at the waistband, an inch-wide run starts down her hip, and she curses like the Old Lady she’s become. Bill just chuckles and shakes his head, reminding her she won’t have them on very long. The double entendre shakes her out of her momentary annoyance and she reaches for the clear nail polish on the dresser. It takes her a minute to find it among the array of jars and boxes covering the surface.

This hasn’t been her room in a long time but now it’s not even “Laura’s old room.” Her old bedroom is now a staging area, her closet divided by character: the businesswoman, the expensive escort, the backwater small town matriarch, the priestess, the veteran’s widow.

She hates the last one the most.

They always take an evening for themselves before she leaves or he leaves, phones silenced and dinner picked up on the way home. Come morning, the taste of each other will be on their tongues, the weight of each other in their bones. They’ll forego the usual household tasks and the sheets, still damp in spots, will stay on the bed. Whoever is left will want to sleep with the other’s scent as long as possible. When word comes in that she’s landed or he’s back in Caprica, whoever’s home will start the laundry and they’ll come together again on fresh-washed sheets.

Bill’s wardrobe is in the guest room: there’s clothes and shoes and accoutrements that say he’s a salesman, a rancher, a small-time councilman in a town no one’s ever heard of, an owner of a used book store. He draws the line at “priest.”

Laura dabs the polish on the run’s end and blows on it to hurry the drying. She checks her ID card one more time. Bill still teases her about the time she was in escort garb with an ID card showing her makeup-free face framed in a priestess’s headcloth. They can laugh about it now. It was weeks later when he told her how it felt to find the escort ID left behind in the safe, realizing she was out there, exposed, where he couldn’t help her. His face had gone grey in the telling.

She double-checks everything now, and lets him see her do it.

Tonight she’ll be the veteran’s widow, stopping for some hospitality and solace at a VA hall with her adult son, a young man with curly hair and high cheekbones. He’s played this part before, and he doesn’t blush anymore when she takes his arm or plants a maternal peck on the side of his face. His real family thinks he’s in grad school in Caprica City.

His grandfather died in the Cylon War. Billy was named after him.

Laura will talk about the damage her husband never came back from, not all the way. Details gleaned from real widows and sons and daughters will be woven into a believable tapestry. By tomorrow morning, she’ll have another few names of people who can be counted on, when the time comes.

The meeting ends and she and her “son” find a budget motel. She’s gotten used to sharing a room with the few men Bill trusts to watch over her on these trips. They feel like family, and she’s as comfortable in her pajamas, going over schedules and maps with them, as she used to be with her sisters.

Billy offers his own lists of contacts and promises, and it’s clear he’d worked the group as much as she had. She falls asleep counting new allies in her head, counting the hours until she’s with Bill again.

 

********************

The drive back home seems twice as long, and she bites her lip to keep from telling Billy to ignore the speed limit. She counts off landmarks in her head, impatience mounting as they get closer to Old Caprica, then to the side of town she now thinks of as hers.

The aura of widowhood gives her a lingering chill, and when Billy is near her house, she tells him to pull in. They should have switched drivers by now, Laura should be behind the wheel taking Billy back to the garage and his car. But she needs to see her husband alive and well before she does anything else. Just driving by without stopping feels like tempting fate, a missed chance.

Billy’s eyes soften as he says that’s fine, and she remembers he’s been playing a son who’s lost his father. Maybe they both need a breather before going back to real life.

Bill doesn’t meet her at the door, and she knows he’s upstairs, readying himself for another trip. It seems like there’s always a half-packed suitcase around these days, for one or the other of them.

“This won’t take long. I just need--”

Billy doesn’t need any explanation; that’s clear as he waves her towards the stairs, then turns towards the refrigerator. She started keeping his favorite soda on hand after he posed as her son the first time.

Her husband is a welcome sight, and she’s touched that he’s waited until she pulled in the drive before changing the sheets that carry her scent. Life is getting more uncertain and just hearing that the latest mission is over isn’t enough anymore. They both need to see each other in the flesh before standing down, trusting that they’re safe again. He grins and asks her to give him a hand, and it feels normal, sharing a chore like regular married people do.

As they go through their ritual of stripping their bed and getting the sheets ready for the wash, she picks up a sweatshirt emblazoned with “Caprica Buccaneers.” Bill tells her about a surprisingly productive, if unexpected meeting with a member of the Pyramid team. He has a good feeling about the young man. She stops him halfway into the conversation with her fingers to his lips, the missing of him sweeping over her in waves.

Every time is hard, it never gets easier. And it’s worse for them both when she’s played a widow. These are the deepest couplings, the ones spiked with terror at what might have been, what might still be out there waiting for them. The sheets are thrown haphazardly over the mattress and used one more time, and her hose are shredded beyond repair when he drags them down her legs.

He doesn’t even take off his pants, just shoves them down, and her fingernails and his belt buckle leaves marks they’ll find tomorrow. He’s bracing himself on his forearms, driving in deep, forgoing their usual foreplay after finding her wet and desperately eager. A few frantic thrusts later, he freezes in place, trying to make this last longer, promising her with his eyes that there’ll be as many orgasms as she can take after, he’ll touch her, go down on her, but this joining, this union demands to come first.

Her eyes fly open wide and he thinks she’s shocked at his selfishness…then she groans and puts her hand on his chest.

“Oh Gods…Billy’s waiting downstairs.”

He closes his eyes. The two car doors slamming, the muffled chatter from the kitchen before Laura came upstairs...then she was in front of him and nothing else mattered.

That had been twenty minutes ago.

It’s ridiculous and silly and they both try to stifle their laughter, then their other sounds as he catches her lips with his and begins moving again. With grunts and whispers and shifting of his body he encourages her to reach down between them and touch herself, and her breathy agreement and the scrape of her nails against his belly brings him closer to the edge. He stops again, giving her the room she needs and her eyes go half-closed as she strokes herself, grinding up against him as best she can. Something cold touches his skin and he realizes she switched her wedding ring to “widow’s right” and a desperate surge runs through him from his heart to his cock to his throat.

It’s all he can do to hang on. The need to frak her, the need to show both of them they’re still here, they’re alive, is overwhelming. He’s moving in shallow thrusts now, not enough to come, but enough to give her the final sparks of sensation she needs. Every muscle in her body is wound tight, her calves around his legs, her thighs shaking, then she arches her back and neck, and her pussy’s clenching him hard as a goddess’s fist. She’s biting her lip against the sounds she usually makes, then presses her mouth against his collarbone and cries out as softly as she can.

Half-formed thoughts, _I need to be quiet, that kid’s right downstairs, oh gods, I hope he’s still downstairs, frak it, it’s our house_ fly through his mind in a hundred different directions, drowned out by a primeval “she’s mine.” He tries to keep it to a low roar but her eyes are fixed on his and the fireworks that fly up his spine are emerald and gold and he holds nothing back, nothing at all, and he shakes as he empties himself into her, the cries from both of them twining together in rough harmony.

They’re still trying to get their breathing back to normal when they hear a knock on the bedroom door, a quiet “ Mrs. Adama? Should I call someone for a ride back to the club?” coming through the wood. His eyebrows furrow at the nerve of the kid when Laura levers herself up on one elbow and calls back, no, just wait, please, she’ll be down in a minute. She makes it until the sound of footsteps says Billy’s halfway down the stairs, then she lets herself dissolve into giggles.

She starts to explain his earnestness, how well he works with her, and Bill stops her with a kiss. I’m glad, he tells her, stroking her face with all the tenderness he possesses. The kid’s not a biker, not a street fighter, but he feels better when Billy’s with her on these trips. He likes the thoughtfulness the kid showed, offering to take off and give them more time, and he suspects it was more for Laura than for him.

Either way, it’s a reminder that the day’s not over yet. They still have more to do. He’s got bags to finish packing.

He finally moves off of her, out of her, and starts aching immediately to be with her again. Not for the frakking--not yet, anyway—but for the connection. As they clean up and finally get the sheets to the washing machine down the hall, they keep touching each other.

She's putting on a clean shirt he holds out for her when he kisses the flower on her shoulder, the images of sepia pages, and traces the winding vine that inches down her arm. The vine has a few more offshoots, some new budding blossoms. She adds one after every “widow” mission: a sign of life after immersing herself in stories of death, the sharp pricks of pain a small penance for playing at the harsh reality of others. A green-shaded reminder of what she still has, the gratitude she feels.

She squeezes his hand tight and finishes dressing.

Every parting, every business run, gets harder. As horrible as the end game will be, they’re ready for this to be over. They keep these thoughts to themselves as they travel to recruit, to do business, to open numbered accounts, to persuade and convince. Neither wants to invite disaster and destruction, but Gods help them, they both want to be part of the fight.


	67. Just a Shot Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: A thin silver lining of prosperity blankets the Twelve Colonies, and only a few take note of the black cloud on the horizon. The rumbling thunder Bill and Laura have grown accustomed to is bringing a lightning bolt neither expected.
> 
> _"I looked around / And I knew there was no turning back"_
> 
> ********************************

The rumblings continue. Across the Twelve Colonies, mines and plants are quietly gearing up production. Unemployment is at a ten year low. Things are getting very busy, for no apparent reason.

Dr.Gaius Baltar is on television more often, skin tight around his eyes and looking younger than he should. The striking blonde on his arm seems to belong there. He is determined to sway the public to artificial intelligence controls over Colonial Defense, and the old generals and admirals who’d opposed him with disgusted horror are retiring or dying off.

And some just fall off the grid, after announcing plans to take those camping trips, those ocean fishing vacations they’d talked about for years.

Some keep to the party line, going along to get along. Others stay in place, voicing useless opposition to younger men with cubit signs in their eyes. They pull the strings that need pulling here and there. An honor guard of pallbearers who’ll never say out loud that some caskets of old soldiers are unusually light. A handful of doctors who’ll provide documents showing engineers and NCOs have a bad heart or a bad back or otherwise need to go on disability a few months before they drop out of sight.

As much as Bill Adama mistrusts networks of machines and electronics, he has faith in the network of men and women he’s had a hand in forging over decades. Alliances form between outlaw clubs and respectable groups over charity rides and memorial celebrations.

Somehow, the money keeps flowing. Laura is the well-to-do escort making several thousand cubit deposits, or the priestess banking six months’ worth of donations, or the matriarch whose investments have done well.

The first time they buy a used cargo ship, it starts feeling real enough to make her stomach hurt. The restored Vipers were one thing…tools for Lee and Kara and others to use. The Raptor…it was just a more efficient way to get between planets. Laura stands next to Bill as he negotiates a lower price, an upgrade on the thrusters, and looks around the empty echoing hold.

She tries to imagine it with cots and families and crying babies. It’s too much of a stretch. The idea of spending more than a few days one of these things turns her palms clammy. Not that underground bunkers are that much better.

Maybe it’s all for nothing. Maybe Bill and her father and all the shadowy figures whispering in the dark are wrong. The Armistice hasn’t been breached for this long, why wouldn’t it continue? The machines, the Cylons…they don’t need cubits from government contracts. She exercises her mind while she waits for Bill to come back from a meeting, imagining what life for the Cylons is like now, if they use money at all, or if exchanging currency for goods is strictly a human construct.

She wonders if they still look like the clanking chrome toasters Baltar has mentioned when he scoffs at the nay-sayers. She’s seen one in a museum, she’s seen paintings and photographs. They all look so angry.

_Maybe we shouldn’t have made them look so grim._

_Maybe we shouldn’t have made them at all._

She wonders if, left to their own devices, they’ve made new models that look more content, now that they’ve been independent for so long.

Bill comes home and heads for the dining room bar before he hugs her hello. He’s one drink down, tossed back like medicine, when she goes to him and tries to snuggle into his arms. It’s like hugging a corpse for a second, he’s that stiff and inflexible. Then he focuses on her and becomes looser, more human. As she watches, his hands start to shake, and he tries to cover it by pouring her a drink as well.

A guy I knew, a pilot in the Colonial Fleet, he’s gone missing, he tells her.

The tightness in his voice lets her know this isn’t someone who’s voluntarily fallen off the grid or gone on a “deep-sea fishing trip” nowhere near an ocean.

It’s just rumors, he says, and that’s all it’ll ever be, and for a black ops mission like that, it’s a miracle he heard about it at all. But a friend of a friend of the club, a middle-aged man who got into officer training school years ago with a recommendation from his advisor, Edward Roslin, has gotten word to him.

The pilot, the guy Bill knew, went over the negotiated DMZ. The line the humans had sworn never to cross. And he wouldn’t have done such an insane stunt on his own. He was a guy who followed orders.

Someone high up in the military had sent him, poking the sleeping Cylon bear. And they probably increased their holdings in any or all of the businesses that made up the war machine of the Twelve Colonies as soon as they heard he hadn’t made it back.

There’s a fortune to be made from another war, Bill and Laura both know this.

If it goes like the last one.

If the Cylons begin the fight as the military expects.

If their weaponry is the same as it had been years ago.

And of course it would be. Dr. Baltar had scoffed at the idea of the mysterious vanished Cylons evolving, having the initiative to devise new weapons systems. It takes a human brain to do that kind of creative thinking, he had blithely said, smirking from a million television sets.

In any shots showing him at a social event, the blonde woman with him has the most serene expression. There’s never an unflattering candid shot of her, not even when Baltar is caught with his mouth half-open, yawning, or staring at another woman with obvious lust.

The woman, his girlfriend, Laura supposes, never changes, not really. A few variations on a model-perfect pleasant look. That observation makes her uneasy and reminds her of the generic, beautiful simulation she’d seen with the holoband. It makes her think of her days with Adar, stiff-faced and artificial, and so many secrets underneath.

_What are their secrets?_

All this runs through her mind as Bill paces between the couch and the bar, stopping occasionally to refill his or her glass.

The next church, there are unfamiliar people at the table, people without tattoos or scars, people who don’t wear leathers.

A fuse has been lit, and it’s burning day by day closer to something explosive.


	68. That Clinking, Clanking Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Money makes the worlds(and the resistance) go 'round
> 
> _"I wanna be a billionaire / so frakking bad""_
> 
> ****************************************

Bill flipped the burner phone shut and leaned back in his chair, running his fingers over the ornate carvings of the meeting table as he thought about the call he’d just finished. Another commitment down.

He’d have to ask Felix how many more there were to go. They had gone to spreadsheets to keep track of who they’d contacted, what talent or material each one could bring. He’d been surprised at the number of former pilots they’d found. Lots of men and women, former military he would have expected to re-enlist, spoke of bad feelings, looking over their shoulder, gossip of highly-placed officers making seemingly rash investments that had started to pay off.

He and Laura had hashed out the morality of that in more than one late-night discussion. She had advocated for investing in the growing war machine, the companies who took more and more of the defense budget and were making stockholders rich. Soon after Bulldog, his old pilot buddy, disappeared in what looked to be a black ops mission, Laura had brought more investment options to the table.

Saul had balked, telling her she had ice water in her veins. Bill had seen faces of men he’d known on every page of the prospectus she passed around, men who were already dead or who would be, as soon as another war started. It was the quietest vote he could remember, and she had gripped his shoulder, sympathetic but immovable before she went to Felix and Hoshi to start the process. Another shell company, another web of brokerage and bank accounts.

He’d been wary of Hoshi at first, a man with no connection to their world or their work, coming around more and more often. It had been Ellen, of all people, who’d first picked up on the connection he had with Felix. Things happened fast after that, and before he knew it, Bill was standing up at the small clubhouse wedding, mind half on the happy couple and half on figuring out what the new man’s job would be.

It was Felix who’d suggested the best option, and now Hoshi had a desk of his own next to Felix’s at the back of the shop, a wedding gift of a brass placard reading “Louis Hoshi, Inventory Manager” front and center.

One set of books on his desk kept up with tires and engine parts, from transmissions down to fuses.

Another set, kept in a concealed compartment, held the real wealth of the club: ownership papers of properties scattered all over the colonies, titles to an array of small to mid-size freighters and runabouts, reconditioned Vipers converted into weekend racing ships. Bill couldn’t carry it all in his head anymore. Soon a weekly update wouldn’t be enough, either.

Things were happening fast in the Twelve Colonies. There were days when Bill wished he could go back to running a small auto repair shop, a single motorcycle club, some fencing, and a heist once in a while.

Then he’d look at his wife, nibbling absently on a pencil while she scanned financials and bond ratings, making notes here and there, and contentment would wash over him.

Incongruous as it was, even with all the threats looming over him, he was a happy man. Worried, cautious, and exhausted more often than not, but happy. Whatever was coming, she’d be at his side, grounding him, giving him strength while exhibiting her own.

He made the last call of the morning, reaching out to a top-rated flight deck engineer…top-rated, that is, until he broke the nose and collarbone of a superior officer in a fist-fight. The ink on his dishonorable discharge papers was barely dry when he was brought to Bill’s attention. Laura looked up and smiled at him across the broad table as he jotted down the man’s name on his list of “probable.”

“Making progress?” she asked.

“Yeah, another likely one…good skills, disillusioned with the current administration.” He lay the paper back on the pile and went to her side of the double desk. “How about you?”

She tapped her pencil point on names that didn’t mean anything to Bill, then the percentage points next to them. Those held more meaning. Even he could suss out figures like “57% ROI.”

“Take a look. This fund is heavily into metals fabrication.” She pointed at one of the names, then moved her pencil down the list. “The one under it makes a component of nav systems.”

“You’re doing good, babe.”

“Better than good, Mr. A.” Felix spoke from the doorway, a sheet of paper and a weekly catalogue in his hands. “This is our total cash holdings as of this morning.” He handed the sheet to Bill.

He raised his eyebrows. This was the largest figure he’d seen yet. The black figures flashed red for a second and it looked like they’d been printed in blood. One blink of his eyes and they were back to simple numbers, no sign of their bloody provenance.

“And this is this week’s listings.” Felix laid the paper down between them then returned to his back office desk. A color picture of a reconditioned Raptor was on the cover. The larger, uglier offerings would be towards the back.

Bill drew his chair over by Laura’s and put his arm around her, flipping the catalogue open with one hand.

“What looks good to you, Mrs. Roslin-Adama?”

She snuggled into his side and began circling fuel requirements, square footage, and flight ranges.

“Give me a minute, Bill.” She cut her eyes at him, her look warm with shared memories. “I take my time when it comes to big decisions.”

“Yeah, I know,” he murmured into her ear, brushing her skin with his lips. “I’m okay with that.”

Her thoughtful hum as she worked was a balm to his heart. He could almost forget they were planning for the end of the worlds.

 


	69. Dreams of Brightwork and Tarnish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Resistance planning makes strange bedfellows...
> 
> _""Bright shiny futures are overrated, anyway""_
> 
> **************************************************

_The flames shot upwards through the darkening sky, the background a cacophony of thudding booms, sharp cracks, and people screaming. Laura watched, wide-eyed, as Hades played out in front of her. She shouldn’t have done this, she realized that now, but she couldn’t make herself turn away. All those people, those…those _things_ …._

_Her mother leaned over her and flicked the television off. “Honey, what did I tell you about this?” There was a slight tremble in her voice, under the firm teacher tone._

_Laura chewed her lip and looked at the toes of her shoes. “Turning on the TV is for grown-ups.”_

_“That’s right.” Her tone softened. “There’s nothing on that you’d like right now. Why don’t you help me make some cookies?”_

_“Cookies?” She brightened. “Can we make chocolate chip ones?” Those were her favorite, and her daddy’s favorite, too. She liked dumping the chips into the dough, watching them spread evenly as she stirred._

_Her mother’s face looked sad for a second, and Laura wished she hadn’t asked. The reddish-brown curls she loved to bury her nose in when they snuggled at story time were pulled back in a tight bun. She only let her hair be loose and pretty when daddy was home._

_“There’s no chocolate this month, Laura. But there’s some cinnamon…we could make cinnamon sugar cookies. How’s that?”_

_Laura pondered that for a minute. Her daddy liked those, too. She got up, took her mother’s hand, and walked with her into the farmhouse kitchen. Maybe this meant her daddy would come back soon. She thought about asking, but that always made her mother get real quiet, and she never gave her an answer anyway. She hopped up on a stool by the counter and watched her mother get down a mixing bowl._

 

*****************************

 

“Godsdamnit, Lee, are you outta your frakking mind?”

The kitchen scene vanished, and Laura was sitting straight up in bed before she processed the angry bark of words coming from downstairs. Her heart ached with missing her parents, with reliving the war years stuffed down deep with her earliest memories. She tried to hold on to the image of her mother, trying to give her some normalcy in the middle of a war, baking cookies while cities burned, but the shouting downstairs continued.

“It’s a great opportunity, Dad. Why can’t you see that?”

Lee sounded just as angry. Grabbing her jeans and a clean shirt from her closet, Laura threw on her clothes and ran a brush through her hair. _What now?_

When she got to the kitchen, the two men were facing away from each other, the pale morning sun illuminating their features. Lee, lips set in a grim line, glared at the coffee cup on front of him. Bill stared stone-faced out the window, tension clear in the set of his shoulders.

“You two are starting early.” She brushed past Lee to pour herself some coffee.

“Wait until you hear your stepson’s latest bright idea,” Bill said, drumming his fingers on the counter. His face looked like thunder and he wasn’t meeting her eyes. She frowned. This sounded like club business, so why were they hashing it out in her kitchen instead of church?

There was an unsettled tingling down her back. Whatever it sounded like, there was something personal going on here. She settled into a chair midway between father and son, blowing the steam off her cup.

“I’m waiting.” She turned towards the younger Adama. “Lee? What’s your idea?”

He eased into the seat beside her. He still wouldn’t look at his father.

“There’s this guy, wants Felix to hack into his records and scrub his background. He says he can get a job on a transport ship that’s huge, used to be a starliner, fitted with an FTL system…he and his buddy could take it over if—when the time comes. They run a light crew, he says.” He gave her a hopeful look that reminded her of past conferences in her principal’s office, full of earnest sincerity. Bill’s snort confirmed her suspicion; there were salient details being left out.

“And there’s good money that could come our way, too. It’s all by government contract now. The guy I’m talking about says it’d be easy enough to get a taste.”

Graft, fraud, and corruption...she could see how the cubits could add up fast. Any nagging feelings about wrong-doing paled beside what Adar, Baltar and the rest were risking bringing down on humanity for money.

“Sounds good.” She took a deep, satisfying gulp of hot coffee. “What aren’t you telling me?” she said, giving him a “don’t bullshit me” look.

Bill pulled up a chair on her other side. “What he’s leaving out is the _guy_ is a low-life asshole who I sanctioned years ago and left the club for good after Zak died. I only let him back in the club in the first place because Lee, here, vouched for him, said we needed him.” His fist tightened around his cup. “See how that turned out.”

Lee slammed his cup down, sloshing coffee over the rim. His face was flushed, his cheekbones standing in stark relief. “You are _not_ hanging Zak on me, if that’s what you’re trying to do.”

Bill’s eyes widened, and Laura could see the pain under the anger.“I know where to place blame for Zak, Lee. I never meant...I know what I did, what I said.” Silence of past regrets hung in the room for a few seconds. “I’m hanging a good part of it on that son-of-a-bitch, though. And there’s more to it…you know that.” His voice lowered. “He can’t be trusted. I don’t care what kind of skill set he’s got, what you think he can do for us.”

Laura’s curiosity was running high, right up there with her concern. The Adama men weren’t just father and son; they were president and VP of the Outlaws. Whatever schism was happening here, it needed to be resolved before they went back to their club roles. The last thing their efforts needed was a falling out between the leaders. Pulling from her days doing union negotiation, she gradually collected the pieces of the conflict from the two angry men.

There was still something missing, one last piece of the puzzle that wasn’t in play yet.

 

************************************************

 

“So, this transport ship is a prison transport.”

“Yeah, but it’s been privatized. It’s got no ties to the government, other than the contracts.” Lee sounded like he’d said this more than once, before she came downstairs.

“So anything happening to it, if it got stolen, would be a law enforcement matter.” She ran her finger around the rim of her cup, thinking out loud. So far everything they’d done had flown under the dradis of the government and the military. Maybe this one would, too.

As Lee described the ship in detail, she found herself nodding, even with Bill grumbling at her side. It would be an asset to their growing fleet, and if it was hijacked…well, that’d be like getting it for free, wouldn’t it? She snorted. She was thinking like an Outlaw, all right.

“So what’s the problem with this…asshole?” Now Bill was starting to flush, and to her eye he looked more embarrassed than angry.

“He stabbed me in the back, is the problem. He wore the colors while betraying a brother, is the problem. He—” Bill’s voice rose until Lee broke in.

“He was frakking your wife, is the problem.”

Oh, sweet lords of Kobol, she knew who they were talking about. The pretty-boy biker with the permanent smirk who’d been cozying up to Carolanne the day Laura’s world had shattered.

She could still see the brass placard engraved with “Carolanne Adama” on the office desk.

He wasn’t a man who aged well. She’d barely recognized him when she saw him at one of Zak’s games, sitting next to a petulant Lee. He’d still carried that smirk, though.

“Are you talking about the Outlaw who was…around when you were in prison?” She laid a cautioning hand on Bill’s arm. They needed to get through this. Preferably without Lee opening old wounds Bill carried from missing so much of the boys’ lives. Or Bill lashing out at someone who’d been important to Lee when he’d been struggling with an alcoholic mother and an absent father.

“Yeah. Tom Zarek.” Bill was trying to hide it, but she could read the old hurt in his eyes. A flicker of jealousy ran through her, then she shook it off. It had been a betrayal, she could see that. Even if he hadn’t been wildly in love with his wife, it had to have been painful, seeing another man in her life, being a stand-in father figure to his sons.

He didn’t have the luxury of wallowing in that kind of pain anymore. None of them did.

“Lee, where’s he now? Is he still in the club?” she asked.

He shrugged. “He took off after Zak got killed. Mom—” His shoulders hunched, then straightened, and he finally met his father’s eyes over her shoulder. “Mom said he was going to cover his ink, maybe go back to Saggitaron, patch into a club there. And stay away from you.”

“But now he’s reaching out.” Bill shook his head in disbelief.

Lee leaned forward, angling around Laura to press his case with his father. She scooted her chair back from the table so the men could communicate face to face. Maybe this could work out after all.

“Dad, he’s heard the rumors. He’s in with one of the clubs we recruited. However much of a dog he is personally, he’s on the same page as far as wanting to be part of the resistance. He’s willing to risk everything to help.”

“Yeah, that’s how I think of Tom Zarek… a patriot,” Bill said, sarcasm coloring the words.

Laura doubted the man she remembered would be completely motivated by patriotism. She did the numbers in her head as the men went back and forth. As Lee had pointed out, until war came, Zarek would be in a position to skim a sizable amount of cubits from prison transport, if he and this buddy of his were smart enough to do it. And Bill grudgingly admitted there’d be increased opportunity to get some smuggling in, too, running the route from Saggitaron, to Libra, then Caprica and back.

She became aware that father and son had stopped talking and were looking at her expectantly.

_Bill’s not going to like this._

_I’m not crazy about it myself._

_Business is business._

Lee’s face lit up with satisfaction as she gave her opinion that they grant Zarek’s request of a squeaky clean background record, and one for his friend, some nomad called Meier.

Before Bill could protest, she continued. It would have been amusing to watch Lee go from surprised to sullen if it hadn’t been that they were discussing surviving the coming apocalypse.

“Whatever skimming he does can’t cause further punishment to the prisoners. It can’t come from their ration supplies or medical care. He can take from the company, from the system, but not them,” she stopped to catch her breath. For a second she was back in a prison yard, seeing men— _her_ man, in prison blue, sitting with their families, and the vision squeezed her heart.

“The prisoners are to be treated as humanely as they can be, under the circumstances. They’re all somebody’s son, or father, or brother.”

The moment of sentiment passed. She could feel her features harden into what had been her “power politics” face. It made a great “Adama’s Old Lady laying down the law” face now.

“And the club gets thirty percent of the skim, non-negotiable, and he and his partner’s word they’ll be with us when the time comes.” She set her cup down with a thud, an impromptu gavel at her own table.

Silence reigned as Bill and Lee mulled over what she’d proposed. Maybe she’d over-stepped. Maybe there was more history, more back story here than she knew.

“I don’t like it,” Bill said, standing up. He rested his hand on her shoulder. “But I’ll bring it to the table.”

Lee stood as well. “Will you vote for it?”

Laura held her breath. She’d seen the specs of this class ship in their catalogs. It had carried a thousand souls back in its heyday as a cruise liner. The lounges, rec centers and dining rooms would have stripped out by now. With the extra room, it could easily hold another few hundred.

Twelve, thirteen, maybe fifteen hundred men, women…and children.

She saw the televised flames of her childhood and shivered. Bill squeezed her shoulder as he talked, and the shivers abated.

“Yeah. I’ll talk to Saul about it, too.” Laura finally relaxed. He sounded like the Bill she’d married again; confident, focused. Eyes back on the big picture. “You talk to Kara?”

Lee smiled at his dad, and it looked like they were back on the same side again. “Oh, yeah. You know her. The bigger the job, the better she likes it. She did wonder if he had what it took to hold onto it, though, if the time comes that he takes it.”

The idea of fiery Kara switching from Vipers to a starliner had Laura choking back a laugh. She wondered if Lee knew her as well as he thought he did.

“If that’s settled, gentleman, I’m going to quit refereeing and start us on getting some breakfast made.”

Arguments and plotting left behind them, the Adamas began breaking eggs, frying bacon, and slicing fruit and bread like they’d been together their whole lives.

 

***************************

Later, after Lee had taken off, Laura and Bill washed and dried dishes in comfortable silence, watching redbirds attacking the bird feeder outside the window.

“You really think Zarek can steal a transport ship?” She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she dried another glass.

“Not really. I’m saying okay because of the skim. We need cash more than we need a great big hulk of a ship.” He handed her another glass. “It’s more cargo space than we need, and those aren’t cheap to keep flying.”

She stopped drying, glass still in her hand. “But when it happens…we could put a lot of people in one of those. Get them out of the war zone.”

He cut the water off and looked at her with genuine curiosity. “And go where, exactly? We don’t know what all this is going to look like, how long it’s going to last, where the fighting will be. And even a ship like that has to be restocked, refueled….”

“I just think we should be ready to get people out of harm’s way, if we can.”

His eyebrows drew together. “We’re going to be trying to survive to keep fighting. That’s what I’ve worked for all this time, what your father worked for. If—when it happens, we’re going to dig in and fight back. You know that.”

She shouldn’t feel so tired, not so soon after getting up. It was the thought of months, years, maybe, hiding underground and fighting back that was doing it. All they were trying to do suddenly felt so draining she could hardly stand. Maybe the military were right. Maybe this would be a survivable war, like the last one.

Maybe the outer planets would be spared. Or the agricultural ones. They’d be safe havens somewhere, like there was last time. Somewhere where children could be shooed away from scary war reports in the media.

Where they could bake cookies and wait for their parents to come home.

She-- _they_ had to find something bright in their looming future. Even if it was just one shiny spot on a tarnished war machine.


	70. Forging Final Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Early thunder comes to Caprica City as bikes and bikers of every stripe gather for the big Armistice Day Rally. Some come for the carnival atmosphere and hell-raising. Some come for one last walk on the decks of a legend, and memories of glory days.
> 
> _""I'll shoot it to you straight and look you in the eye""_
> 
> ************************************

It felt good to think about something other than death and destruction for a change. Laura could come close to believing that this was all she had to do, making choices from lists, writing notes, gathering names. She stretched out on her stomach, shoving a few piles of papers out of her way, and rested her head on her folded arms. The quilt on their bed was soft and warm, and smelled of the sunshine that had streamed through their open bedroom window all day. Maybe just a quick nap…

She woke to the sound of rustling papers and the muted clicks of Bill’s boot heels as he tried to move quietly around the bed. Her hair had fallen over her face and she took the opportunity to secretly observe her husband as he tried to gather the forms and notes without waking her up. Some of the weathering had left his cheeks, and he had lost a little of that raw, wind-burned look. Others, his lieutenants, she supposed, did most of the long rides these days. The garage had become his command center, her father’s office their planning, thinking space.

He was working his brain much harder than his body lately, and it showed in the slight paunch that pushed against his belt buckle, in the effort it took to get to the gym on a regular schedule these days. Everything else was rock-solid, though, and she hummed in silent appreciation as her gaze took in the sculpted muscles in his arms and the sturdy breadth of his back. He looked good in a plain black tee shirt and slightly ripped jeans, his leather cut downstairs somewhere. She could pretend for a minute that they were any other couple, hanging around the house on a summer weekend.

His voice was soft by her ear. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know.” The hint of false menace made her grin into the crook of her arm. She loved this teasing side of him, and she hadn’t seen it in a while.

“Wasn’t trying to, dear. Just resting my eyes.” She rolled onto her side and brushed the hair out of her face.

“Looks like fun. Think I’ll join you.” He started to shove the various stacks into one pile at the foot of the bed.

“Don’t you dare!” she said, sitting up and taking the papers out of his hands. “I spent all morning on those.”

“And I appreciate it, believe me. And so does the…” He scanned the paperwork she was arranging in neat piles again. “The Caprican Cancer Foundation, and the Children’s Hospital, and the Delphi Domestic Violence Coalition.” His brow crinkled. “How’re the rest of the rides doing?”

She smiled to herself. Fund-raising was fund-raising, and the skills that had made her an asset in Richard’s early campaigns hadn’t been that hard to translate into her new life. And the general public seemed to be intrigued enough by the edgy juxtaposition of bad-ass bikers and worthy causes to keep opening their wallets.

“Felix and Hoshi are handling the 5K marathon and the Veteran’s Center poker run. And Helo and Boomer are doing the games at the Outlaw tent in Kid’s Town.” She finally got the invoices and registration forms in some kind of order again and set them on the trunk at the foot of the bed. When she turned back, he was stripping his shirt off.

“What about Lee and Kara?” she asked, trying to ignore the beginning sparks in her belly. The house was quiet, a light breeze was stirring against her skin, and her husband was half-naked in front of her. The business of the day was feeling less and less critical.

“They’re checking the aid stations along the Hydra Canyon run. Donations are still coming in for that one.”

Bill finished undressing, standing there naked and easy in his skin. He stepped closer and threaded his fingers through her hair, massaging the skin underneath until she was ready to purr. She stretched out, her toes almost reaching the pillows at the head of the bed. The sparks were quickly turning into a low throbbing, and the sight of his cock, fully erect and inches from her face, was a tempting distraction.

“What about you?” she asked, voice husky with want. She could smell the musk of his skin already.

He pulled one hand from her hair and ran his fingers over the hollow of her neck, then down into the vee of her shirt. He cupped one full breast before he answered, and she was gratified to hear the same need in his voice.

“I was planning to take a shower, but now I’m leaning towards making love to my wife.”

“So many decisions,” she teased, rolling closer and nosing the thick hair before giving him a long lick up the length of his shaft. “What are you going to do?” Her breath caught as he flicked open the snap on her jeans and bent to kiss the skin underneath.

“I’m thinking consolidation…a nice, long frak, then a shower for both of us.” His eyes twinkled as they met hers, then turned serious as he finished undressing her. She stroked the curve of his ass, playing over his skin with her fingernails while she lifted her hips to help the process along.

We should pull the covers down, her sensible side whispered, and lock the door, and…

And then he was next to her on the bed, kissing her deep and hard, his hand running slowly down her ribs from breast to hip and back again. His cock was hot against her thigh as she opened to him, wet and ready. His fingers began their dance along her folds and she grabbed his hips, impatience guiding her movements.

“Later…after,” she gasped, rolling under him and pulling him into her. The slow grind of his pelvis against her clit was enough for now, making her shudder as she locked her legs around his hips.

“Later, my ass,” he growled, changing his angle just enough to put more pressure where she needed it. His thrusts slowed as he gazed deep into her eyes, and the love she saw there was almost too intense to bear. He began a rocking motion, hips pumping as he drove deep inside, his left arm hiking her leg up even higher, opening her wider against him.

Laura closed her eyes and let the sensations wash over her, licks of heat building, spinning, winding her tighter and tighter. She opened them again and drank in the sight of him, a thick lock of hair falling over his forehead as he moved, jaw clenched and his breath coming in shallow gasps. He wanted to frak her hard and fast, she could tell, but he kept to the luscious pattern he’d begun that was driving her out of her mind. She gave into him fully, groaning encouragement, calling on the Gods, arching against him in a perfect counterpoint.

She came seconds before he did, their combined voices making a sweet roar that drifted out the open window into the summer afternoon.

Soon, there’d be a shower for them both, dressing again for the day, a return to the organizing, the phone calls, the lists. Right now, though there was just this; his head on her breast, her hand on his back, whispers and sighs and throaty giggles and “Love you,” “Love you, too” drifting back and forth between them. She thought about the bedspread again, and lazily decided it didn’t matter. That’s what washing machines were for. The thought made her giggle again as she snuggled closer and slipped her leg over his.

 

*********************

 

Their quick cat nap was over in minutes, and they shared loving touches as they got up and got in the shower.

“We should do this more often,” Laura said, gently scrubbing shampoo into his scalp.

He rinsed off then turned her around so he could return the favor, working the suds into her thick strands. “We’d never get anything done, but think I could live with that.” He pushed her hair aside to kiss the nape of her neck. Her sudden stiffening surprised him.

“What?” he asked.

She was quiet for a minute as she rinsed the soap from her hair. When she finished, she gave him a solemn look he wasn’t expecting.

“Bill, I know your mind’s been on the big rally lately. Mine has, too. But the other…” She didn’t have to finish her sentence. He knew the “other” she meant. It’s all he’d thought about most of the time. The biennial “Forge of Hephaestus” bike rally had been an interlude of normalcy, a temporary welcome diversion.

And this time, it would be more.

He pulled her into his arms, letting the streams of warm water flow over them. “There’s time for both, babe. And it’s not that separate. Trust me on that.”

She shifted away and turned the water off. “Tell me more about that--the ‘not being so separate’ part.” She stepped out of the shower and handed him a towel, then began drying off herself.

“You’ve never been around a rally like this, have you?”

“No, I usually left town that weekend. Start of summer vacation and all, when I was with the schools. It was a good time to go hiking, or to the beach. And later…” she looked away.

She didn’t have to finish. The Secretary of Education had no place at a bike rally, charity runs or not. And maybe she hadn’t wanted to risk running into him. His hands gripped tighter on his towel as he imagined Adar questioning her about any interest in motorcycle culture. Of course she’d steer clear.

He forced himself to relax. “It’s a good time for the different groups to get together. Years past, we’d hash out business arrangements, territories, things like that.” His lip quirked. She knew by now what kind of business he was talking about, but it was old habit, trying to keep things sounding a little less illegal.

She bent to towel-dry her hair, then flipped up, flinging her hair in that way she did that always made his heart skip a beat. Gods, he loved this woman. There were days that her being his wife seemed like a dream.

“Sounds like a gathering of the Quorum.” She gave him a thoughtful look as she began to put her clothes back on.

“Yeah, it kind of is. A lot of the clubs have been around since the War, so there’s a pretty big group of elders.” He finished toweling off then reached for his boxers and jeans. “You’ve met some of them on their home turf, but it’s different when they’re all gathered in one place. There’s a lot of wisdom, a lot of talent…and a lot of strength.”

“Well, I’m just glad our financials are healthy. Did I show you the bills for our share of the food and space rental?” She raised one eyebrow as she watched him pull his shirt on.

“Yeah, I know. But it’ll be worth it. We’ll get a lot of business done, pull more guys into the fold…” He finished buttoning up his fresh shirt and gave her a hug. “And we’ll have some fun, too. You’ll get to show off your baby.” He pulled back, giving her a wide grin. “I’ve got a surprise for you, too. Can’t wait for you to see it.”

She finally relaxed again, resting her head on his shoulder. “You’ll be with me, right? I’ve never done anything like that before.”

He kissed the top of her head, letting his lips linger against her hair. He could stand like this forever, just breathing in the scent of her, feeling her heart beat against his.

“You just drive, and I’ll tell you what you need to do. It’ll be fine.”

Laura looked up at him, thoughtful smile on her lips. “You’ve been telling me that for years, haven’t you? I always liked the sound of that.”

There were times like this when the years disappeared, and they were so young again, learning about love and trust. It was achingly sweet. He closed his eyes.

“Me, too, sweetheart. Me, too.”

He let himself enjoy the moment, then reluctantly pulled away. He had places he had to be, things he had to get done in their shrinking time frame. He told himself the lie he’d gotten used to...how things would be for them when all this was over. It was as false as their accounting, but it still helped.

*************************

 

Laura looked around the crowded club, keeping an eye out for Bill. He should have been back by now. She’d never seen such a mix of the different clubs before, and she felt a bit voyeuristic, watching the posturing and jockeying going on. She toyed with the police whistle around her neck and took in the scene with an anthropologist's eye. Across the room, she could see Ellen doing the same thing.

The men were busy bullshitting each other, as men will do when gathered with others like themselves but with different patches, different colors on their backs. The Thunder Roads Bike Rally on Canceron two years ago was the biggest, one said, citing numbers in the hundreds of thousands. No way, another challenged, claiming half the number at that particular rally were looky-loos and tourists, and further asserting the Aerilon Bike Week the following year had two hundred thousand bikers actually registered, and with their families plus the tourists that year, came close to a half million.

Saul Tigh had just shoved his chair back and sprung to his feet, fists balled, when Ellen gave Laura a flurry of subtle signals. Laura put the police whistle between her lips and blew an ear-splitting blast. In the following shocked silence, she reached behind her and punched the second from the top right button on the jukebox she’d been leaning on. As the first notes of a favorite club song began, Ellen threw a few more signals at the attendees wearing tops emblazoned with “Tigh One On.” Her girls and guys set their round trays down on whatever table was closest and began moving in a shimmying, hip-sliding line to the elevated dance floor.

By the time the dancers asked for assistance in setting up the portable poles, nobody felt like arguing any more. Saul grumpily agreed that the numbers for Canceron and Aerilon were too close to matter anyway, and after a couple of bear hugs and back-poundings, the brothers in arms settled for displaying their dismay that Virgon even had a bike sub-culture and their doubts that a rally would ever be held there.

”I miss anything?”

The soft question was hard to catch over the music and boisterous noise in the crowded club, but the hand touching her waist and the solid presence she sensed behind her told Laura all she needed to know. Bill Adama was back from his most recent run and had quietly come in the back way, dodging the crowd for a few semi-quiet moments with her.

“Just the usual…whose club hosted the biggest rally, who’s been around longer, etcetera, etcetera.” She turned and slipped her arms under his open leather cut, burying her nose in the crook of his neck. “We’ve got it handled, Prez.”

He moved so her back was against the wall and leaned in, a bulwark between her and the noisy crowd. There was a calm, safe feeling, standing between his arms, letting herself fall into his steady gaze. All the demands and worries receded for a minute or two, and it was just them; an old married couple stealing a pinch of time from their duties as hosts of a particularly well-attended party. She let the music’s throbbing bass guide her hips with his, then they were swaying together, not quite dancing, not standing still. These moments were becoming increasingly hard to find, and all the more precious for their rarity.

It was on the tip of her tongue to suggest slipping away to the room at the back of the club when the crowd parted to the call of “Make a hole!” She quirked an eyebrow at Bill.

“Sounds like Kara’s back.”

They watched the crowd part around the two black-leather-clad figures, Kara mock-bowing to the other bikers she passed through, Lee beside her, almost perfectly solemn-faced except for a faint smirk when he cut his eyes at his partner in crime.

“Did you get what you went for?” Bill’s tone made it clear that their light-hearted interlude was over for now. He was back to being all business. Laura felt the weight that had lifted for a few minutes settle back on her shoulders. It had been nice while it lasted.

“Right here.” Lee showed them the papers in his hand. Festival permits, allowing the“Forge of Hephaestus” Bike Rally (re-branded for the government as the “Ride for Freedom” Armistice Day Rally) to assemble on the outskirts of the Trojan Interplanetary Spaceport for five days of charity races, swap meets, and general partying.

Unmentioned in the permits were the meetings that would take place under the smokescreen of good times and fast rides.

“Did you get the booking contract from the Colonial Historical Society?” Laura asked.

“Hope it’s worth it. It cost an arm and a leg.” Kara handed a folder to Laura, full of bright slick-paper brochures and staid typed contracts and waivers.

“Frak, yes, it’ll be worth it,” Saul growled, coming up behind Bill. “Best battleship in the Godsdamn Colonial Fleet. Hurt like hell to see her put out to pasture last year.”

“It’s not like she was sent to the scrapheap, Saul,” Laura said. “She’s become an important tool to teach Colonial students about our history.”

She groaned inside. It didn’t take much for her to go back to her educator roots. She had been there at the decommissioning, politely clapping as the still ramrod-straight Commander Cain had recited a short speech about service to the Colonies, steel-gray hair falling like frozen water on either side of her razor-sharp features. The warship would have been a better teaching tool if the Department of Education could have networked her computers into the schools’ systems.

“Her last commander…didn’t she do something to the ship’s internal system so it’d cost a fortune to network it with the planet-side terminals?”

Saul opened his mouth then closed it again, giving Bill a look she couldn’t interpret. There was something there that was part of their history, the parts they didn’t talk about.

She could suddenly see them as they’d been decades ago, young soldiers in a terrifying war, fighting metallic death shoulder to shoulder. The moment passed and they were two middle-aged men again, scarred and worn around the edges, but still battle-ready.

Saul finally broke the heavy silence with a cheeky snort.

“Probably. Cain’s a Tauron, after all.” His grin wrinkled the skin alongside his eye patch. “You know how stubborn they can be.”

“Hard-headed, I hear,” Laura picked up the teasing tone, adding a playful nudge to Bill’s ribs.

Kara watched the two older men for a few seconds, then tilted her head to give Lee a thorough look from head to toe as the color rose in his cheeks. “What?” he finally exclaimed, squirming under her scrutiny.

Her sotto voce barely reached Laura’s ears but it was still enough to catch.

“Good thing you’re only half-Tauron, or you’d be impossible to deal with.”

Their banter continued as they walked away, probably heading for the bar, challenging and taunting each other as usual. One day, they’d head for a quiet back room of their own.

She looked at the brochures in her hand. The _Galactica_ had a powerful grace to it, and she could see why Bill and the others had a special place in their hearts for the mighty ship. _This is one of the ones that saved us. One of the ships that let us come home, be a family again._

Bill cleared his throat and she could see it was an effort for him to come back fully into the present, to the time when the huge ship was now a tourist attraction. He began pointing out different parts of the ship with his finger, one arm draped around her shoulders. As he described the huge hangar decks, the ready rooms, and the CIC, the ship came alive in its pictures. She could see why people rented out parts of the ship for weddings, for family reunions, for veteran gatherings. It’d be perfect for the opening welcome ceremony and the recognition of Cylon War vets in the crowd.

“How many people do you think will attend?” she asked.

“With the clubs, their families, some friends, bike-riding civvies…it won’t be anything like the ones on Canceron or Aerilon, but we should draw eighty, ninety thousand people.”

“That’s a lot of people,” she mused.

A soft voice in the back of her mind whispered that wasn’t very many people at all, when you thought about it. She shrugged off that grim thought and glanced at the brochure a final time before handing it to Bill.

She could see why it still had an effect on him. The _Galactica_ had a patina of survival, a luster of hard-fought experience about it. In its own way, it was beautiful.

She looked forward to seeing it again.  



	71. Last, Best Rides, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The Armistice Day Bike Rally is in full swing, and the vintage Mustang is taken for her last ride, with a couple of unexpected additions. Meanwhile, an old soldier gears up for his annual tradition...
> 
>  
> 
> _"So I wanna laugh while the laughin' is easy"_  
>   
> 
> *************************************************

*************************************************

“Mom? Mom! Can we get in that line? It’s moving faster.” Darius pulled at his mother’s arm, trying to drag her over to the queue of rough-looking leather-clad men.

“That shuttle’s for veterans, honey.” Alana leaned close to his ear. “And I think you’ll like _Botanical Cruiser_ better than _Galactica_. It’s got gardens, streams, and a bunch of different animals.” She beamed at her squirming son. “It’ll be more fun, I promise.”

Darius figured his mom just didn’t want to get too close to the old guys in leather vests. She really hadn’t wanted to come at all, but it was the first Armistice Day they’d actually been anywhere cool since his dad died. Somewhere between the dunk-the-clown booth and the tent selling sweet, crunchy elephant ear pastries, she’d even started laughing a little.

He shrugged and let his mom lead him to the line for the next shuttle. A little girl, maybe two or three years younger than him, giggled as his mom pulled a paper napkin from her pocketbook and wiped some strawberry syrup off his cheek. He was debating on whether to say anything about the botanical ship being for babies when his mother started up a conversation with the elderly woman holding the little girl’s hand. He rolled his eyes. He was trapped for real. Maybe if he was good, they could come back for the battlestar tomorrow.

 

****************

 

“So, I was thinking…maybe for our honeymoon?” Alexander fanned out the fancy brochures detailing the wonders of the luxury liner, _Cloud Nine_. Penelope looked doubtful.

“I always thought they were really cramped. And cruising between the outer planets…I don’t know, hon. Wouldn’t you rather just go to the Scorpian beaches?”

“We only get the dinner coupon if we take the tour, Penelope. Let’s just check it out, okay? If you hate it, we’ll still get a nice dinner for free.” He looked at the line snaking its way to the row of shuttles. “A couple hours of our time, a sales pitch and tour, and we’ll be back down before you know it.”

Penelope shook her head as she stepped into the line. He just wanted the free dinner voucher. There was no way either of their entry level biotech jobs would let them afford a honeymoon on a luxury liner like this. A Scorpian beach trip would be pushing it, after the wedding was paid for. Maybe she should have picked a less expensive caterer…she mulled over their budget again as the line shuffled forward. At least the liner tour would let her think about something else for a few hours.

 

***********************

“Frak, there’s too damn many civvies around here. Is this a bike rally or a frakkin’ state fair?” The surly biker glared at the crowd while his heavily tatted partner slurped on an orange snow cone.

“Happy Armistice Day to you, too, pal.” Roscoe slung an arm around the grizzled man next to him. “Let’s check out the Harley exhibit before we go up for the air show, okay?” He offered his snow cone, getting a splash of orange on his husband’s beard.

The grouchy biker relented, taking a bite out of the sweet icy mush. “I’d rather see the classics on parade, if it’s all the same to you.” His tone mellowed as he sucked on the treat, then handed it back.

“Fine.” Roscoe pulled the fairgrounds map out of his back pocket and traced the shortest route. If they hurried, they’d see most of the parade. He’d never admit it to Bennie, but he shared the same admiration his husband had for classic cars. Some were even prettier, to his eye, than a fine chromed-up Harley.

 

************

 

This was harder than it looked. Laura concentrated on keeping a set distance back from the bikes in front of her. If she went as slowly as she’d have liked, though, the ones behind her would be thrown off their pace. Every ninety seconds the bikes broke formation, did a crisp figure eight around the emerald green Mustang, then split, riding on ahead while another set took their place. All she had to do was keep an absolutely steady pace to make sure everything stayed seamless and graceful.

That’s all.

Bill had done his best detail work on her vintage convertible, adding a luster coat that made the finish sparkle like a coating of crushed diamonds. And Boomer had found her a matching scarf in an import shop in Delphi, the same shade of green and trimmed with the tiniest mirrors Laura had ever seen. It was an unexpected look, the gauzy, feminine scarf topping the black leather of her jacket, but somehow, it worked. She absently hummed an old refrain about leather and lace, trying to remember to smile at the crowd while keeping a measuring eye on the riders ahead.

A soft tap on her thigh had her easing her foot off the gas, slowing down a fraction, too subtle to be noticeable but enough to give safe clearance to the next set of bikes. His thumb pressed the outside of her knee and she adjusted the wheel a hair to the right. He was guiding her perfectly while giving the impression that all he was doing was carrying the flag of their local Veterans of the Cylon War post.

Now and then she could hear a yell of “Husker!” from people in the crowd. Each time it made her heart beat with pride and remembered youth. Galen had crafted two replicas of Bill’s old call sign insignia plates, swearing up and down that the adhesive he used wouldn’t mar the finish. The plastic had been painted to look like bright polished chrome, even though the real plates showed the scars of a few thousand flights. Bill had gotten misty-eyed when he’d seen them, and she had a flash of a much younger Bill, seeing his own Viper for the very first time.

As far as Laura was concerned, the plates could be a permanent part of her treasured ride. It felt right, a melding of their histories displayed for all the world to see. A reminder of what he’d fought for, and unbeknownst to most of the crowd, a sign of the fight he was willing to enter again, if he had to.

Another set of riders swooped around her steady progress, club colors and patches blurring with their speed. Not Outlaws…her eyes narrowed as they added an unexpected flourish to their maneuver that threw her timing off. Bill kept his crowd-pleasing friendly smile as he squeezed her knee, murmuring “Steady, little more gas, easy does it…” She accelerated enough to clear some space behind her. It felt like there was an invisible cable from his touch to her foot on the pedal, guiding her to apply the exact pressure she needed.

In the rear-view mirror, she watched the riders behind her jerk up into tandem one-handed wheelies, snap off a crisp salute towards Bill, then peel off. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as well, relaxed and confident, at least on the outside. Her co-pilot stroked her thigh, not to guide but to silently give her the message of “well done.” She relaxed into his touch.

It was a good day, a fine day for a parade. Children and adults alike were holding up signs along the way, thanking veterans for their service, the fallen for their long-ago sacrifice. If she didn’t look in the mirror, she could almost pretend her parents were with them, beaming with happiness while their daughter and son-in-law made their way down the asphalt. Laura took one hand off the wheel long enough to turn the radio to an oldies station, then set her grip again to a proper ten and two.

The day would get busier later on…a memorial ceremony would take place that evening up on the _Galactica_ ; veterans, some active service members, family and friends of the clubs. Right now, though, it was a gorgeous day, the sun was shining bright on the crowd, and she and Bill were navigating together again, her movements feeling as natural as breathing.

She caught his eye and his smile mirrored her own.

"It's nice, doing this without an ice storm," he said, giving her thigh a gentle squeeze.

Their soft laughter floated out over the crowd, carried in the summer breeze.

 

*******************************

 

Col. Callum Hawkins adjusted his leather sash one last time before boarding the shuttle. It became more uncomfortable every year, even with the increase in girth he ordered somewhere around the time he turned fifty. Not that he was overweight…far from it. He prided himself on his PT scores, even as it got harder as time went on. But he wasn’t the tight, trim soldier he’d been the first time he’d made the shuttle flight to the armistice station forty years ago.

The station had still had the smell of soldering and fresh paint, and he’d deny it if asked, but his stomach had tightened and his bowels had felt unnervingly loose that day. He was sure he’d be facing his worst nightmare—again—in a matter of hours.

Forty years, two wives, and an advanced degree had come and gone, along with half his hair. His worst nightmare failed to appear, year after year.

A reasonable man (or a civilian) would have given up those early nerves a couple of decades ago. A man, or woman, who’d never seen the shining death-dealers clanking forward…inevitable, inexorable, bent on annihilation. Maybe those fortunate souls could have put the past behind them. As for Callum Hawkins…his stomach still tightened, his bowels shivered every year he boarded this particular shuttle.

“Welcome aboard, Colonel,” the pilot greeted him. He returned a half-hearted salute and got into his seat. He could remember the first time he realized the shuttle jockey flying him to the station was young enough to be his son. Now he had the uneasy feeling that it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine himself as this kid’s grandpa. Maybe this was a sign it was time to train a new officer for this. Someone who knew the war from books and stories, who wouldn’t have those flashes of gut-churning residual fear while waiting at the solitary desk.

The frame of the family picture stored in his travel bag dug into his hip. Serina was still a young girl in his eyes, full of excited anticipation for what life would bring next. Boxey had his mother’s outlook, perpetually up for anything new. He had so much accumulated leave...and his new CO had mentioned again this week that leave was given for a reason. Maybe they could take an extended vacation, go somewhere where he wouldn’t be “that Armistice Station guy.”

_Wouldn’t that be nice?_

The stars streaked by as the shuttle climbed. He checked his watch. If everything went according to the usual pattern, he’d get clearance to leave in a few hours. The days of a twenty-four hour watch were long gone. His attendance was little more than formality, really. A token show of abiding by the original treaty, on the same level as making the sign of one of the gods before entering a temple. He took out his phone and flipped it open.

Bill Adama’s number was first on the list of recent calls.

Callum declined the offer of ersatz coffee. The Fleet hadn’t bothered to stock the shuttles with decent coffee since Adar’s administration came into power. He shook his head. He’d have to remember to tell Bill that when he saw him at the rally. The festivities should be in full swing by the time he got back.

_Still can’t believe he ended up with the Roslin girl!_ He thought he’d heard wrong when that tidbit came through the grapevine. He’d only seen the oldest Roslin daughter once, in person. But every time he had come to Mr. Roslin’s office to check on his veteran’s tuition benefits, a current picture of her had been prominently displayed, along with his advisor’s wife, and later, his younger daughters. He could still see that picture…he’d stared at it enough while waiting for Mr. Roslin to finish phone calls rife with persuasion and veiled allegations. The outcome was always the same…another semester paid for, another extension of his medical benefits.

When he re-enlisted, this time as a candidate for officer training, he’d gone to Mr. Roslin’s office to thank him for giving him the help he needed to go in as more than a knuckle-dragger. He could still remember what he’d said: _If there’s anything I can ever do for you, please, sir, let me know._

Two years went by before his old mentor approached him for intel. He was surprised at how right it felt, to give the man what he asked for. As more years passed, he became convinced that Mr. Roslin and his circle were more concerned for the Colonies’ security than the suits in Caprica City.

Callum stayed balanced between conflicting loyalties until Adar began turning his pet scientist, that sociopath Baltar, loose on artificial intelligence… _again._ Mr. Roslin was years in his grave by then (one of the few times he’d cried in his adult life was the day he donned plain black leathers and rode with the Outlaws to bury his mentor) but Callum remembered his promises to the man.

Maybe that’s why he got along with Bill so well, even though they didn’t see each other more than once every couple of years.. Both owed a lot to the Roslin family. He thought of those pictures again, a serious-eyed girl with dark auburn curls, and smiled. Bill was a lucky guy, even with all the bumps along his particular road.

He glanced at his phone again. Once he got settled in for his stint at the station, he’d give Bill a call, find out where he’d be by the time the shuttle hit dirt again. It’d be good to lift a mug with Bill Adama and the rest of the Outlaws who were old enough to remember what they’d fought for back then.

With any luck there’d be a band, or at least a DJ. He wouldn’t mind whirling Laura Roslin across a dance floor one time before he headed home to his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _So...my magnum opus "One Wild Ride" is coming to a close, after 2 years and 3 months of being a WIP. It'll be in excess of 150K words, which is amazing, dismaying, mind-boggling...I keep the header "this started out as a 100 word drabble" because that blows my mind every time I think about it._
> 
> _There's a lot I'd do differently, if this had been more planned and less...organic. I think it would have been three separate fics in the same 'verse, if I'd known ahead of time where it would go. OTOH, I've read and enjoyed books that spanned huge chunks of time, so maybe that drove my thinking to make it one extended saga._
> 
> _I attended my 40th high school reunion this weekend and was reminded that our theme song for graduation was Seals & Croft's "We May Never Pass This Way Again." That feels like a resonating theme for the last chapters for both the characters and me, as well. I love all my scribbled babies, but OWR has parts that are the most deeply personal words I've written, tough, painful times that I wrapped up in fiction and made them more comfortable to examine. And joyful times that I got to look at again, dressed up a little differently :-) And although I've thought in the past that trying to write a 30 years' long tale was nuts, this weekend reminded me that 30-40 years can go by in the blink of an eye, and how much and how little different things change over time. I really do think that if Bill and Laura had not seen each other since they were in their early 20s, they would still see the people they were back then, even through the layers of years...around the eyes, in their voices, their expressions. _
> 
> _I think the gaps in the last chapters (in the timing of the posts) came from my...discombobulation with the direction that Sutter took/is taking with Sons of Anarchy. OWR is firmly in the themes of the first season, maybe the second. Not that it makes it as hard as it would have been if OWR was a crossover, but...there were times when just thinking about even a sanitized version of that life was more than I wanted to deal with._
> 
> _So, it's fall, which always feels like a different kind of beginning (maybe residual feelings from school starting?) and I'm poking at the writing muse to see where she is. I'm not explaining it that well, but writing the finale of OWR does feel like a beginning, although that sounds backwards. At any rate, I like that fall and the finale are coinciding. It makes me curious as to what will happen next :-)_


	72. Last, Best Rides, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Parade over, Bill and Laura take a few minutes to just be in the moment, looking over the fruits of their labors. Between the Adamas, the Tighs, and select others, a variety of memories come into play.
> 
> _"Like the twilight in the road up ahead / They don't see just where we're goin'"_
> 
> **********************************

“I never thought driving at five miles an hour could be so exhausting.” Laura got out of the bucket seat and handed the keys to Helo.

She took a last look at the “Husker” plates on the door panels. _Yeah, they needed to stay._ She watched him pull away, headed back to their rented garage. The Mustang would go back under her protective tarp again until the final exhibition.

“What do you think?” Bill asked, slipping his arms around her waist from behind. She leaned back into him, hands on his forearms. She could feel him nod at the scene before them. From the slight rise where they stood, she could see almost all of the grounds.

“So many people down there…and it’s so diverse. I thought—“ she broke off, shaking her head and chuckling. “I don’t know what I thought. Maybe that it would be like a club gathering, but bigger. Instead…” She gestured towards the sea of people before them. “It’s a little microcosm of the colonies, in a way.”

Her eyes raked the crowd. There were bikers, their rides standing alongside simple tents. Other, more elaborate tents had shiny roadsters parked outside, built for riding in comfort and equipped with anti-theft devices. The distant parking lots were jammed with day visitors, a sea of sparkling windshields and metal that went on and on. Past that was another field of long-term parking for the non-camping folks who’d reserved billets on the Outlaws’ refurbished cargo ship.

Quonset exhibition halls had been set up on the west perimeter, lines already forming to see tattoo artists and custom gear vendors. To the east, a huge stage had been erected, gaudy banners advertising the sponsoring bars and dance clubs.

The audience from the last band was slowly dispersing, groups breaking off to head towards the beverage tents. In the middle of the field was Kid’s Town, an enclosed space for kiddy rides and family-friendly vendors. Burly bouncer-types were stationed at the entrances, rough sentries ensuring the safety of the young.

She spotted the Outlaw tent with ease, its Tauron-style lettering spelling out the name of the club. Felix and Louis were manning the grill while Flattop and Chuckles and their old ladies served up hamburgers and hotdogs to waiting families. Next to them were the Poseidon Riders, offering big red cups of soda and lemonade. Her stomach growled as the sweet scent of frying pastry wafted to the rise where they stood.

“I guess I always thought these things would be less…wholesome, from the pictures I saw.”

“I guess you haven’t been over to “Rough Riders’ Row.” He pointed to the tight rows of tents and structures to the north of the crowd. “That’s where those pictures come from. That’ll gear up to full blast after the sun goes down, but look…see that big pink and silver-lettered tent and the stage next to it, people already crowding around it? That’s Ellen’s spot.”

She raised her hand to her eyes, squinting in the sun. “Already got the portable poles up, I see.”

“And the second wave of beer trucks are pulling in now. She’s got this down to a fine science.”

She turned in his arms. “Want to go get something to eat? I’m in the mood for some horribly unhealthy fried fair food.”

He checked his watch. “Sure. We’ve got another hour before I need to meet with Commander Garner, do a final run-down on tonight’s schedule.”

They walked arm in arm back to Bill’s bike. Laura ran over the day’s planning in her mind. “So, Garner…he’s still active duty?” She braced a foot on the peg and threw her leg over the pillion seat.

Bill kicked the stand up. “He retired about the time _Galactica_ was de-commissioned. The Department of Military History hired him to run the tours.” He shook his head. “Garner was just coming in as a mechanic when the war ended. He worked on my Viper maybe twice, before the armistice was announced. Didn’t seem like the career type, but I guess he found something he needed in the service.”

Laura buckled her helmet in silence. She was profoundly glad Bill hadn’t gone that route. She smiled at the broad leather-clad back in front of her. She couldn’t imagine her husband in a starched uniform, obeying orders and taking every step in accordance with military protocol.

A fighter pilot, she could see, him tearing up the skies, guns blazing, sights locked on an enemy, protecting the Colonies. But a peacetime warrior, doing endless drills and dry runs, or worse, retired and doing guided tours? She patted his shoulder, signaling she was ready, then gripped his hips tight. He was right where he needed to be, part of humanity’s fail-safe plan. As they rode off, she wondered if this Garner fellow ever got tired of playing his role.

*****************

Saul rubbed at the skin at the bottom edge of his patch. “Godsdamn itching’s flared up again.”

“I told you to try that new syntha-skin patch, honey. It’s supposed to be completely hypoallergenic.” Ellen spoke without taking her eye off the buzz of activity around them. She’d already had to drop everything and find an electrician to get their biggest cooler up and running again, and her lead dancer had just tripped over a loose cable and was getting her ankle iced and taped, hoping it’d be manageable by the time her set started.

“It’s not the material,” he groused, motioning to the gaffer to get the lights higher. He’d had different patches over the years, some more comfortable than others. This particular itch had nothing to do with that. It was the itch that flared when bad shit was about to go down. The Veteran’s Day Riot, a few other disasters over the years…it was like his patron god was giving him an early warning.

The itch faded as he pulled a cup of beer from the nearest keg, added a healthy slug from his pocket flask and drank it down, the rim never leaving his lips. _That’s better._

He sauntered off towards the roadies setting up the sound equipment. No need to rush…the veteran’s special tour and ceremony on that old bucket _Galactica_ was still two hours away, and if everything ran on schedule, it’d be over by the time the crowd was really ready to rock and roll on this side of the field.

 

**************************

 

“Hold still.” Bill leaned in to kiss away the traces of powdered sugar she’d missed. Laura returned the kiss with enough enthusiasm to generate an approving whistle from the shuttle pilot waiting by the open hatch.

_Raptor,_ she corrected herself. Raptor and its Raptor pilot. She should know better...she’d filed titles on two surplus Raptors within the past year. There were two other Raptors on the tarmac, next to the line of shuttles waiting for passengers. Bill shot a glare at the pilot, then his eyes widened.

“I haven’t seen that uniform in about forty years, Lieutenant.”

The young woman blushed. “I’m not supposed to break character. Sorry about that, folks.”

“Yeah, in my day, we wouldn’t have been so disrespectful.” He held his glower for another few seconds before breaking into a chuckle. “And if you believe that, whoever’s doing your reenactment training isn’t telling you the good parts.”

Laura took a closer look at the now-grinning pilot. Bill was right. The uniform looked like the ones she’d seen in Veteran’s Day parades and old pictures; similar to present-day Colonial Military but with brass buckles on the sleeves instead of black plastic, a bit more padding in the shoulders.

“Oh, I’ve heard a few good stories, Mr. Adama. But my character’s supposed to be an earnest nugget just out of the Academy, trying to make a name for herself in the last days of the war. I should have been more disciplined.” She stood aside as the couple climbed through the open hatch. Bill ran his hand over the console as Laura stowed her tote bag by the seats.

“You know, the first thing I ever flew after I signed up was one of these babies.” His fingers moved over the controls as if they still remembered the sequence of switches and buttons. “I was really disappointed. I thought I’d get a Viper the minute I reported for duty.”

They settled into their seats, Bill taking the NCO position and Laura on the bench behind.

“That would’ve been the Mark II, right?” the young pilot asked.

The two chatted about classic fighters while Laura scanned the vessel. She’d never flown in something so small. The idea of piloting a Viper, whatever the vintage, made her queasy. She’d seen the fancy maneuvers at airshows, and the sudden turns, flips, and reverses were amazing to watch, but she couldn’t help imagining the vertigo those moves must produce. She much preferred the nice, straight flight path that was taking them to _Galactica_.

Grabbing the top folder from her tote bag, she began scanning over the schedule. The Caprica Colonial Warrior Reenactment Guild had been on board for two days already, going through one of the last battles of the war. That had concluded yesterday…the returning veterans would miss the fighting, instead seeing confident victors ready to celebrate Armistice Day.

She flipped the pages, going over the supplies for the buffet one more time. She’d questioned the need for breakfast as well as the banquet, but Bill was right…with all the drinking that was bound to happen when the war stories started to flow, it made sense to offer overnight berths. There was certainly plenty of room, and there was something very sweet and a bit tantalizing about the thought of being with Bill in one of those racks.

He’d turned an adorable shade of red when she’d asked if people really frakked in those tiny spaces, just a curtain between them and a roomful of fellow soldiers. Of the club members at the table that night, Saul had snickered the most, starting off a ribald trip down memory lane among the older members who’d served.

Laura turned in her seat to hide her smile. If they had enough fun the first night, maybe she’d suggest a second. She’d packed a bit heavier than usual, just to be on the safe side. It could be their last mini-vacation for a while, if you could call coordinating a bike rally, club business, and Armistice Day a vacation.

“Laura, are you seeing this?” Bill’s awed tone drew her out of her planner.

“Oh my Gods, Bill…it’s huge.” She stared through the window at the behemoth in front of them. It had the look of another time, a different age. The pictures she’d seen hadn’t shown the wear, the slightly different lines of her compared to the newer battleships being made now.

_This is one of the ones who protected me before I even knew what war was_.

She’d always questioned human pronouns given to inanimate objects, but “her” seemed right somehow, for this old, battered but still flying guardian matriarch. Different models of Vipers flew in and out of her pods, some flying fancier than others, nimble as dragonflies.

“I was just a kid when I first saw her,” he mused, eyes drinking in the ship. “She was the latest, the most top of the line battlestar we had.” he reached back and took her hand. “She felt like home as soon as I set foot on the flight deck. Even though I’d accepted there was a good chance I wouldn’t make it back, I knew that was where I wanted to be.”

Laura rested her head on his shoulder, trying to see it through his eyes. So many scared but still brave young men and women had gone into battle on that ship.

Maybe fun or business meeting opportunity wasn’t the right way to look at this excursion. It was part museum, part memorial, part of all their histories. A quiet reverence filled her as they slowly approached.


	73. Last, Best Rides, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: A bike rally in space is a chaotic crowded affair, as is the Caprica City River Walk... and many kilometers away, high above the chaos, two strangers prepare to meet for the first and last time.
> 
> _"All the secrets in the universe whisper in our ears"_
> 
> ************************************

The pilot made a smooth enough approach, letting the comm chatter guide them in for a slightly bumpy touchdown. Deck hands came out to check on fuel, as serious as Laura imagined they’d been in wartime. With the numbers she knew were attending, they’d be slammed all day, filling up the battlestar with club members from all the colonies, veterans and their families, and assorted military history buffs.

“Is that Husker I see?” A man a little older than Bill came up to greet them, his dress grey uniform pressed and festooned with various ribbons and medals.

Bill snapped off a sharp salute before giving the man a bear hug. “Barry Garner! Gods, man, how long’s it been? They still have you in uniform?” He stood back, clasping the man’s shoulders.

“Kind of," Garner replied."The Department of History got permission for me to still wear the uniform, and get this…when I took over as museum director, they made me an honorary Commander. Pretty sweet, right?” He gave them both a self-deprecatiing eye roll. Laura smiled through the introductions. Something told her the title meant a lot to him, even if it was for show.

 Garner looked capable enough to run a busy museum, but there was something off about seeing him as a commander. She gave an internal shrug. For whatever reason, she could see Bill in that role better than this man, even with Bill’s checkered past.

“I’ll escort you to your quarters, then maybe you can give the missus a tour. I’ve got a lot of juggling to do still before we get the evening program going.” The trio walked out into a brightly lit corridor, angular and crowded with passing visitors.

“So I see," he responded. "Our pilot said she was with a reenactment guild that spent a few days up here.”

Garner looked away. “Yeah…I got mixed feelings about that, personally. The playing at war thing…but they take it real serious, and I have to admit they look good doing it.” He finally grinned. “And I do like seeing our guys win at the end of their set every time.”

“Make a hole!” someone shouted up ahead, and Laura moved back against Bill as a group of five young troops ran past them, the last one in line yelling taunts at the others.

“They really take their reenactment seriously,” she said.

Garner kept walking after the group had passed. “Those guys are the real deal, Mrs. Adama. In exchange for military consults and maintenance, and some extra funding, the academy does drills up here every month. If we weren’t having Armistice Day, they’d have a day of simulated attacks and boarding parties, equipment failure…situations they might encounter on the real thing.” He gave a wry chuckle. “Guess they don’t like getting the real battlestars dinged up for nothing.”

“While people are visiting the museum?”

“No ma’am.” He paused in front of a hatch. “They just do PT drills and flight drills, re-fueling, grunt work if their time here overlaps with the regular schedule.” Opening the hatch, he continued. “Keeps me busy, scheduling and cross-checking everything, but it works.”

Bill and Garner reminisced about the old days while Laura looked around the quarters. Instead of the rows of curtained racks she’d expected, it was a roomy space, with a couch, table, desk and chair in one section, a large rack off to one side, and a private bathroom past that. There was even artwork on the walls and a filled bookcase against the nearest wall.

“This looks like it was meant for someone important,” she said, looking around the space.

“It was. This was the commander’s quarters.” He smiled. “We don’t have any official dignitaries tonight, so I pulled a couple of strings and got permission to quarter you two in here.”

She felt a pang at not being able to live out their little fantasy of two pilots snugged into a single bunk, but the larger space and wider rack were too nice of an upgrade to turn down. She could pretend to be the commander’s lady for a night or two.

“This is my office, actually, when I need to get some paperwork done.” Garner looked around the space. "Don’t stay the night here, though. That’s the nice thing about retirement from the Fleet…I get to go home to my Daphne every night.”

Bill looked up from his perusal of the books on the wooden bookshelf. “You’re staying for the ceremony, aren’t you? And drinks after?” He gave the other man a searching look. Laura wasn’t sure where he stood in the resistance planning, but it was obvious Bill wanted to do some more parlaying with the officer.

“Yeah, sure…” He looked away. “Daphne’s not coming up so I told her I’d leave as early as I could, but I’ve got time to raise a glass to the old days.”

“Daphne’s not a fan of bikers, I take it?” Bill’s tone was more accepting than offended. He was used to being off-putting to certain kinds of civilians.

“Well…she’s trying to get membership into some exclusive women’s club in Delphi." He shrugged. "You know how it is.”

Laura gave Bill a sidelong look. “Oh yes, we know how it is.” She twined her arm around Bill’s waist, bold in her leathers. “People make assumptions about us all the time.” Adar’s face flashed through her mind. “Don’t give it another thought.”

“Laura’s right—it happens. But hey…I hope you can hang around until Callum comes down.”

“Who?” She frowned. She hadn’t heard that name before.

“Callum Hawkins, the Armistice Station guy. Armistice Station Officer, I should say,” Bill corrected himself. “He’s gonna call as soon as he can get away. He’s hoping to get here in time for the main ceremony.”

Garner chuckled again. “He shaves a little more time off station duty every year, doesn’t he? Guess there’s not much point in hanging out there for twenty-four hours. If the Cylons were to show up, the defense department’d know it the second they approached. Plenty of time to run somebody up there.”

She could feel Bill turn rigid under his shirt. This museum-runner had been left out of the loop regarding the intelligence that had been trickling down to them over the years, but still, she’d expected less complacency from a wartime veteran when it came to discussing Cylons. Bill might need to re-think bringing him into the fold.

“I hope you’re right.” His tone turned dismissive. “I’m going to go over our parts again with Laura, make sure everything’s fine-tuned. I’ll send somebody to find you when I hear from Callum. It’d be nice if the old _Galactica_ boys could attend at least part of the ceremony together.”

“Good enough,” the man said. He shook Laura’s hand again before stepping out of the hatch. Half-out, he looked back and smirked. “Hey, Bill…don’t forget the boots outside the hatch, if you don’t want any tourists coming through.” He gave a good-natured laugh as he left.

“Boots? Seriously?” She raised an eyebrow.

“He’s just trying to be funny. Tourists aren’t going to know about boots. And besides—“ He got up and checked the hatch. “Looks like the dogs still lock.”

They sat at the polished wooden table and went over the schedule and orders one more time, trading notes about the supplies in the general dining mess and the stores in the assorted bars. There was plenty of space for two people to work together across from each other.

She wondered about the people who’d sat at this table before, maybe even during _Galactica’s_ first mission. She could still see scratches and dings along the edges of the table. What would these quarters, this table say, if they could talk?

 

**********************************

 

The first blonde walked through the river-walk crowd, her stride steady as she side-stepped around people pausing to look at artisans’ offerings or fresh fruit for sale. Each face looked different from the rest and the overall effect was discordant, unharmonious. There was no discernable pattern to ages, sizes, colors.

Humanity looked irritatingly random, seen this close up. She wondered how her more experienced sisters managed to live within this mess and not go mad. Her eyes scanned at a lower level and noticed the young humans. Interesting…the younger they were, the more uniform they seemed.

A carriage bumped her leg and she looked down at a human not much longer than the span from her elbow to her fingertips. She bent to examine the creature more closely, saying a few socially appropriate sentences to the human pushing the carriage.

She wanted to touch it, maybe hold it. An experience to file away for posterity, in case her kind developed curiosity about these creatures after extinction.

 

****************************

 

Callum Hawkins punched in the number he’d memorized weeks ago. Bill picked up at the first ring.

“Seen any Cylons lately?” he said.

Callum laughed. “Nope. They always stand me up. Don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“You know, we never thought about maybe they just didn’t like you personally.”

The two traded good-natured jabs for a minute before settling down to serious talk.

“Everybody’s gathering now, Callum. Shuttles have been running all day and we’ve got a full house over here.”

“I really need to stick around up here another couple of hours, at least. Not like I haven’t watched the opening ceremonies before. Are you going to broadcast the speeches?”

“Yeah, they’ll be relayed to the folks on the ground and the ones up here on the other ships. You want me to patch it through to you?”

He thought for a second. “No, just get me a recording later, would you? I’m going to square some paperwork away, write up this year’s report, then come on over. Keep a couple of bottles on ice for me.”

“Will do. And if it looks like the buffet’s running low, we’ll save you a plate.”

“Appreciate it, Bill. See you shortly.” He clicked the phone off and glanced at the old-fashioned clock over the door.

Maybe he could get away in another hour.

 

**************************************************

 

Another blonde carefully turned the pages of a magazine her sister had given her, along with an assortment of clothes and cosmetics. She had developed a gestalt from the various images; strong, intimidating…deadly. Her studies indicated the shade of red closest to arterial blood evoked fear in humans, while standardized physical beauty evoked desire. She melded the two concepts, choosing a scarlet suit that accentuated her breasts, waist and hips, and applying deep red lipstick until it looked like she’d taken a bite out of one of them.

Slipping on the stiletto-heeled boots, she smiled, thinking of the surprise, then the panic the human would feel. She should probably just board the station with the centurions and blast it…but what would it be like to look into the human’s eyes at the last moment? At the exact second he knew he was going to die with no hope of resurrection?

She finished a final touch-up of the lipstick and clicked the cap shut. If she was going to have to go through the pain of resurrection, she should get a chance to satisfy her curiosity.

It was only fair.


	74. Last, Best Rides, Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Memories and ghosts fill Galactica as Bill and Laura take in the sights. Speeches begin, and the words are broadcast through space. One listener thinks he could do better. One old soldier waits for his shift to end.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _"Dreams, so they say / Are for the fools and they let 'em drift away"_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> *************************************

Bill looked around the hangar deck. Every step between their temporary quarters and this huge open space had brought him closer to the young warrior he'd been back then. The pride, the fear...not the cockiness he'd carried back then, though. That had been knocked out of him in the first battle. He had almost been able to feel the gaze of hundreds of souls as he escorted Laura through the ship.

Watching.

_Waiting?_

He had shaken the feeling off and returned firmly to the present. Maybe it was the reenactment guild taking their places around the ship, some looking eerily similar to men and women he’d served with. He might suggest they give it a try when they had some down time. He grinned at the thought of his leather and jeans-wearing wife outfitted in duty blues or BDU greens.

She’d returned his grin when he shared his thoughts. “We could give it a try, hon. As soon as we have the time.”

Both their grins faded. After this weekend, there would be more trips, more meetings...and very little time to just _be_. He turned his attention back to the stage in front of them.

**********************

 

The speeches were predictable; a couple of minor Cabinet officials, a Colonial Fleet officer born after the war, a retired general heading up the reenactment group. Bill stood respectfully, surrounded by his club members. _When we get back, maybe we’ll drive up to the mountains. Check in on the storage facilities there, see how the recruiting’s going._ He reached down and squeezed Laura’s hand. They could use a break after the months of planning and organizing they’d put in, even if it had to be a short one.

He glanced at the notes in his hand. His part would be short, and more directed at his fellow club members that the general public. A reminder of the need for gratitude towards veterans, support for current troops, and some key mentions of continued readiness to serve.

The back of his neck prickled. Maybe it was the size of the crowd….although that didn’t feel quite right. He shrugged and looked at his notes again, silently saying key phrases over and over in his head.

It’d be over soon.

 

*********************

 

Across kilometers of space, a shipful of men dressed in red coveralls watched the huge viewscreen, most with sullen eyes. A few of the older prisoners, though, nodded at Tom with a note of respect for setting this up. Tom stood at the guard platform, looking down at the hundreds of soon-to-be parolees.

Next year, they’d be watching as free men, in their own homes, he’d told them when he arranged the broadcast. _And maybe a few would be in club leathers by then._ He looked back up at the screen, listening to speeches that sounded like last year’s, and the years before.

He didn’t know why politicians always had to be so rote, so rehearsed in their speeches. He hadn’t had their training by any means, but the few times he’d addressed a shipload of prison transports, every one a felon, the words had come easily, from some inner wellspring he didn’t know he’d had.

At some point, he decided he liked it.

Tips on survival, both in the prison world and free society, turned into exhortations to stand together, watch each other’s back. Meier told him he was starting to identify too much with the prisoners after the third run.

“That could be me or you down in the cells, Meier. We’ve both been there.”

“And we didn’t have anybody giving speeches on playing nice with others, but we managed,” Meier retorted.

“If you want to call getting your ass kicked by psycho guards until I came along ‘managing,’go right ahead.” He shrugged and turned back to the monitor, waiting for the talking heads to finish.

 

**************

 

_Finally._

The last speech was over. Bill stepped up to the podium just long enough to give his concise speech, thanked the clubs and the many veterans among them, then led the crowd in a fervent, rowdy “So say we all!” Applause rang through the hangar deck.The crowd began to move in different directions, most going to the buffet and bar areas, some walking over to the row of Vipers for a closer look, and a handful heading to the gift shop.

Arm around Laura’s waist, he moved through the horde in the direction of the CIC. It’d been years since he’d seen one, and he was embarrassed it had taken some mental searching to recall what “CIC” stood for. He hoped he’d remember enough to give Laura a sense of how it had all worked.

And then, maybe a quiet drink in their quarters, a few minutes of just the two of them before joining the partying bikers. Her slight flush at his whispered suggestion, _Would the politician like the Viper pilot to give her the full tour?_ gave him hope for something more. When Callum called, he’d ask him to take his time coming over. There’d be plenty of time tonight for old friends and cold beer. He could carve out twenty minutes for just him and his wife.

He watched her climb the ladder to the next deck, jeans fitting like second skin, and amended that to thirty.

The CIC looked odd without the aura of urgency he’d remembered. No shouts of DRADIS readings or pilot comms. A few young officers walked back and forth, giving comm printouts to Garner and listening to veterans reminiscing about the old days. Several bikers and other, more civilian-looking folk lightly touched switches and dials at the various stations, muscle memory guiding their fingers. Bill was pointing out the Viper and Raptor figures on the hexagonal table in the center of the CIC when his phone vibrated.

“It’s Callum,” he said, motioning Laura to a quieter corner. “I’ll ask him if he can stretch out his arrival.” He hit “talk” and raised the phone to his ear.

 

*********************************

 

The clock had ticked off two hours and ten minutes. He’d done his duty (or close enough) for another year. Callum hit redial for Bill Adama and began thinking of the raucous party waiting over on the _Galactica_. He was opening his mouth to answer Bill’s “hello” when a flicker from the desk monitor caught his eye. At the same time, a faint but perceptible vibration went through the deck.

“Bill? Hold tight. Something’s--” His mouth went dry. How many years had it been since he’d felt that subtle clank and shiver? 

_Boarding party._

Shadows grew long in the patch of deck shown in the monitor.

“Don’t talk,” he whispered into the phone. He fumbled with buttons until he hit the combination he was looking for, then shoved the phone under a concealing stack of yellowing paperwork, the tiny lens peeking out.

Maybe he was hearing things; maybe the screen on Bill’s phone would show nothing more than the returning shuttle pilot arriving early. Part of his brain wanted to scream “They’re back!” into the phone, but his training tamped it down. _Wait…wait..._

“What the _frak_?”

On his monitor, the figures had emerged from the shadows. The frakking toasters were back, and they’d captured a human woman. His outraged disgust jumped away when he saw the trio--two toasters and the woman--execute a sharp left turn, the woman leading the way.

The habit of forty years had him hoping maybe, just maybe this was a new type of delegation, that he’d lived long enough to see Cylon and human sit down at a treaty table again. Maybe there was a Cylon-human peace the Colonies hadn’t known about, and the woman…

The doors at the end of the room slid open, and the woman was striding in like she owned the place. 

The new, sleeker Cylons flipped their chromed hands into articulated firearms.Their single moving eyes matched the woman’s scarlet suit, the bright red of her lips. His guts clenched. This was no human. She and the sleek metal figures flanking her were of a kind, he saw that now, in her stance, her gliding walk.

His eyes met hers and Callum’s will drained down to nothing, his hands splayed helplessly on the desk. They were here and they’d be more coming and the only thing he could do was let the scene play out.

He hoped Bill was catching this.


	75. Last, Best Rides, Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Old soldiers at their posts take their own last, best rides, as Bill and Laura make the hardest decisions of their lives.
> 
>  
> 
> _Like explorers in the olden days / We must gather all our courage_

  
  
  
  
  
  
_At the end, It comes down to this. Just me, and this woman, and a couple of updated toasters._  
  
And Bill, on the other end of Callum's last call. He hoped it would be enough.  
  
The metal figures clicked and whirred into threatening stances, flanking the slim figure between them.  
  
Sweat beaded his brow. He wished he'd had time to say a last "It's been an honor and a privilege to serve with you" to his old friend. A last "I love you" to Serena and Boxey.  
  
As the woman sauntered to the desk and asked if he were alive, he shot a glance at the phone, then let his gaze linger on the faces of his wife and son.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Prove it.”  
  
She bent to kiss him, and he let her, buying Bill another second.  
  
 _She feels like a real woman_  was his last thought, and he looked at his family’s faces again.  


 

  
  
********************  
  
  
  
Fisk’s age-gnarled hand tremored as he unlocked the front door of  _Adama Automotive_. He really should have just watched the feed from his trailer, but he felt like he needed more today...he needed the sense of community, even if only in spirit. He walked through the empty clubhouse, flicking on lights until he came to the bar. He turned to the live broadcast of the Armistice Day ceremony and pulled up a chair.  _Old bucket hasn’t changed much_. He poured a shot of bourbon and settled in to watch the show.  
  
When they cut away to breaking news, he listened for a few seconds, then got up. He was halfway down the stairs to the underground rooms when the screen went dark.  
  
“Now where’s that--oh, here we go.” He stopped in front of the Colonial transponder on the shelf and made sure it was sending its signal. Funny, he’d always thought he’d feel more...be scared, or enraged if it happened again. If Amy was still alive, or if they’d had kids, he’d be scrambling to get them to safety, even at his age.  
  
Fisk looked around the fortified space. Bill and the boys had done a good job. He could stay down here, see if he could ride it out…he dropped the barrier he held in his mind against his wartime memories. The waiting, the terror...never knowing if this was the last second of life, watching his fellow marines die all around him…  
  
He’d had a pretty good life, all things considered. He walled off those memories a final time.  
  
His wife’s face was in front of him as he made his way back up the stairs. “See you soon, sweetheart,’” he said as he grabbed the bourbon and went out the front door.  _Bill’s best. Hope he don’t mind_. The old marine’s sleeve fell back as he lifted the bottle, letting him see his regiment tattoo for the last time. He watched the columns of smoke and ash rise over Caprica City.  
  
The bourbon was sweet and strong in his throat. He could almost see a distant misty Shore in the darkening clouds.  
  
 _It’ll be quick, anyway_.  


  
  
*********************************

  
  
  
  
Bill angled the phone so Laura could see the tiny screen. She held her breath as she watched the metal monstrosities come closer, the female figure leading them. _It’s the holoband woman_. Her skin crawled. They watched until the screen filled with scarlet and the whispered words came through the phone.  
  
 _Prove it._  
  
“We’ve got to get back down there. The cities’ll have to evacuate immediately,” Bill said, his speech clipped.  
  
Her mind ran in a dozen directions: they’d need to get the word out that there were safe bunkers scattered throughout the Twelve Colonies, start coordinating the fledgling resistance with the military forces…then the faces of the resistance leaders, competent, ready, ran through her mind.  
  
“Bill, think about this. There’s people on the ground who can do that. Right now--” she broke off as the screen showed _Call lost._  
  
“Right now, we need to get out of here,” she continued.  
  
His face flushed. “We need to get to our people.”  
  
This was it. Her skin crawled at what she’d seen, what it meant.  
  
She watched him punch in numbers for a group text, readying himself to say the words that would send them all back into the coming fight.  
  
“Bill, think about this. You’re getting ready to put all of humanity’s eggs in one fragile basket.” She grabbed his wrist, willing him to listen. “Is it worth it, for a few minutes, maybe seconds, of feeling like you’re doing the right thing?”  
  
His fingers froze. His eyes met hers, and his betrayed look cut into her soul. For a wrenching moment she wondered if he were right.  
  
The fierce urge to get back and protect everyone they could hit her hard, then crumbled as she envisioned the ships picked off, blasted out of the sky before they could reach the surface.  
  
“We don’t know the size of their forces," he countered.  "We might have time to get down there, get things started--”  
  
“What happens if the planet-side survivors see the last batch of human spacecraft hurtling to the ground in flames? How many would just give up?”  
  
Her words were hitting him like blows to the gut, she could see it in his face. Another second went by.  
  
She waited.  
  
A look of grim resolve passed over his face.  
  
He punched in his message. The letters glowed against the screen, poised to go out to a hundred trusted members.  
  
 _Take control of all ships._  
  
He wanted to be in the fight, she could tell by the white-knuckled grip he had on the phone, the way his glance kept flicking towards the DRADIS. It’d be suicide...this museum had nothing to fight with other than what the training troops had brought aboard. The other ships in the sky were unarmed and loaded with men, women and children. To her, their course was as clear as it was bitter. But to him? She wrapped her fingers around his free hand as he added the final sentence to the group message.  
  
 _We’re bugging out._  
  
Relief flooded her as she made out the words. She squeezed his hand and nodded, once.  
  
He hit send, snapped the phone closed, and together, they turned back to the CIC.  


 

  
*****************************

 

  
  
Anastasia watched the narrow paper spool out of the comm. It looked so white and new. This part always felt kind of weird, although logically, she knew there were modern communiques coming through all the time about museum matters. The past few days, though, they had all been about their simulated war.  
  
She was more used to battle communiques that were yellowed and printed with fading ink, most filed in archival boxes, a select, significant few framed for posterity, the ones that had announced the attacks. She’d re-framed the original herself, her supervisor giving her that honor after she’d told him about her reenactment hobby.  
  
Whoever was transmitting must be as much of a history buff as she was...the wording of the first attack report was perfect.  
  
 _No, not so perfect_. She frowned at the report. This hadn’t been the order of the attacks. Sagittaron had been one of the last hit, and here it was one of the first. And there was a reference to the  _Atlantia_ , a serious anachronism; that ship hadn’t been commissioned until after the war.  
  
 _And why were they sending copies of the initial attack report now? They’d reenacted the last battle this morning._  
  
Another paper spooled out, then another.  
  
My gods...what if this was really happening? It couldn’t be--everybody said the defense mainframe was infallible, reacting faster, smarter to threats than any human.  
  
Everybody had said they were safe.  
  
The slips kept coming, names and numbers in cold, callous lines of type.  
  
 _Osirus._  
  
 _Oranu_  
  
 _Celeste._  
  
As she collected the papers, she wished she was back in history class again, studying the day’s events from a safe distance. Making history was stomach-turning, sweaty and cold in turns. What would her reenactment persona, Petty Officer Second Class Dualla do? Her hands steadied as she slipped into the only role that seemed useful now.  
  
“Commander Garner, sir? You need to see this,” Anastasia called, then stopped mid-turn. Garner was red-faced and shaking, fear and anger evident in every line in his face, in his whole posture as he stood with his hands slightly raised.  
  
The man in leathers holding a gun on him, though, radiated confidence. So did the woman standing next to him.  
  
She should have been horrified--from the tense words she could make out, it sounded like these two were hijacking the ship--then she looked down at the reports in her hand, and realized a tiny part of her was relieved.

 

  
  
  
**********************  


 

  
  
In the end, it wasn’t much of a hijacking, at least not aboard  _Galactica._  Garner had seen the reports at the same time Bill did, and had given the nav officer his bug-out orders: break orbit and head away from the Colonies.  
  
Delphi had been on the print-out, the last city named before the reports switched to planets.  
  
Laura reached out a sympathetic hand but the officer shrugged it off. Bill had slipped his handgun back into waist of his jeans as soon as the orders were given, probably thinking Garner was now on their side. She knew better.The man’s eyes had gone flat and dead as soon as he saw his home city on the list. Bill was asking the communications officer reenactor if she knew how to link the comm to the other ships when Garner raised his hands to his collar.  
  
“Have at it, Husker.” He handed Bill the commander pips he’d removed. “I’m gonna find a quiet spot, see if I can reach Daphne.” He quietly walked out of the frantic CIC, useless phone cradled in his hand.  
  
Laura was in the middle of asking Bill if Garner could really do that when the first cry of “Cylon raiders!” came from the DRADIS operator.

 

 


	76. Open Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: As above, so below...the fight for humanity's survival continues, and the bit of Outlaw within us all does not die easily.
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> _Sail our ships out on the open seas / cast away our fears and / All the years come and go / take us up, always up_

  
  
  
  
  
  
Leo Patrouski  huddled under the canvas lean-to with his new best friend. “Go ahead,” he urged. “I didn’t lip the spout or anything.”  
  
The skinny black-haired girl next to him snorted quietly. “Think we’re past fear of cooties, Leo.” She took the canteen, swallowed a measured sip, then handed it back.  
  
“Yeah, I just—forget it.” It had seemed like a normal thing to say, an old-normal thing, from before.  
  
“Any idea how much longer we’ve got?” She nodded towards the med kit tucked inside his pack.  
  
He wished Miss Laura hadn’t been such a good tutor. Thanks to her, he could work the problem out in his head: four adults, two kids equaled five pills a day, six if the map took them close to a hot zone and he and Lisa took the whole 130 mg dose instead of half. They were down to covering thirty klicks a day, but the altitude was starting to slow them down. Their destination looked like it was about a hundred klicks northwest, but on the hand-drawn map, a hundred could be eighty or a hundred-twenty.  
  
There were eighteen anti-radiation pills left.  
  
“We’ve got enough. We’ll make it.” He didn‘t meet her eyes.  
  
The soft, hushed words of the adults drifted towards them. The two men seemed to be arguing about something. Leo heard his dad say “Adama” twice. He looked out the opening at the men in faded blue clothes, their numbers still sewn on their breast pockets. His mom and Lisa’s shared a canteen between them, interrupting the men from time to time.  
  
“I knew him,” he said with a touch of pride. “Him and his Old Lady.”  
  
“Yeah? You think they really did what people say?” Her hazel eyes lit up.  
  
It was just a rumor they’d heard, scraps here and there, but maybe talking about it would keep his mind off how hungry he was. Leo had worked out the figures on their rations, too. He hoped the map was on the short side. Another three days, and… _and nothing. We can’t hunt, can’t fish, everything’s poison, pretty much. We just have to get there in under three days._  He could hear Miss Laura now, showing him how to solve for the unknown.  
  
Telling him numbers don’t lie.  
  
“I think so, yeah. Him and her both. And the rest of the club, I knew most of the guys pretty good. I can see them hijacking a battlestar.” He grinned for the first time in two days. “They really were—are—that bad-ass. “  
  
Lisa looked out at the adults, her gaze focused on her father. “He’s not really a bad-ass, you know? He was in for—they said he stole money from his boss.”  
  
Leo shrugged. “He was pretty bad-ass when he had to be.”  
  
The fact they were sitting here, hurting but alive, was proof enough of that.  
  
  
****************************  
  
Leo had been pissed about missing the bike rally, although he wouldn’t have missed a visitation day with his dad for anything. He just wished it hadn’t been on the same weekend.  _There'll be other rallies, hon,_ his mom had said,  _and maybe the next one, or the one after, your father’ll be with us._  
  
He had just started to talk with his dad’s cellmate’s kid—Lisa played  _Warrior’s Revenge_  too, although she wasn’t even twelve yet—when they felt the first shockwaves. A guard came running out of the security pod, yelling about Cylons…most of the rest was a blur after they saw the smoke columns in the distance.  
  
The older guard, the dude with a faded Viper tattoo on his arm, had hit the gate switches right before the power grid blew. People were yelling about armories and infirmaries. The next thing he knew, someone was handing his dad a couple of long guns and gesturing to the road that led away from the smoke. The older guard scribbled something on some paper and shoved it into Lisa’s dad’s hand, then they were all running towards the open gate.  
  
It still didn’t seem real until the guard said “Stay safe” and Leo’s dad told him “Good hunting.” The guard turned back to join the line of tan-uniformed men and women.  
  
His dad explained later how half the prison was a medical facility, and the guards were doing their duty. Leo tried not to think about that. By now, the ones who stayed were probably dead.  
  
 _But we’re not, so far. Maybe it is only eighty klicks. Maybe less._ The guard had just thrown coordinates on a scrap piece of paper. It could be off some.  
  
There was a decent chance they’d make it. They’d gotten through two Cylon-heavy sites and three hot zones so far. Lisa’s dad, Martin, had been almost as good as Leo’s dad when it came to putting down toasters. He offered Lisa another swig from his canteen.  
  
 _Zeus, I’m only thirteen_. He held back a sniffle as he saw himself at the Roslin-Adama kitchen table again, cookies and books and a whiteboard full of problems.  
  
Maybe it’s  _under_  eighty klicks.  
  
He and Lisa watched the adults sketch lines in the dirt, wipe them out with the toe of a boot, then start over. They were all nodding now, and his mom was smiling a little bit.  
  
Lisa’s mom took first watch while the others crowded under the lean-to. Leo took a last look up at the bit of black starry sky he could see through the clouds.  
  
He hoped the rumors were true.  
  
  
****************  
  
  
It had been a little over eighty klicks after all.  
  
They were into their third day. Leo’s stomach had stopped growling the day before. Now he was just more tired than he’d ever been, and he felt like there was a tightening band around his head. Lisa was starting to drag, too. They all were. The headaches got worse the higher they went, and his jeans and jacket weren’t much protection from the dropping temperatures.  
  
Lisa’s mom saw the scrap of fabric first, but Leo was the first one to recognize the cobalt-blue of the Caprica City Buccaneers jersey.  
  
The tall, athletic man seemed to come out of nowhere, rifle in hand and a sharp-faced redhead next to him, equally armed.  
  
“That’s Sam Anders,” he whispered to Lisa. “I saw him play once.”  
  
“Me, too,” she whispered back. “My grandpa...” Her voice trailed off and they watched the adults exchange cautious greetings and information.  
  
His head was sluggish and he tried to remember if he’d taken his anti-rad pill this morning, or was that yesterday? His mind began to clear as soon as Anders took them inside a falling-down shack and pulled up a hidden door in the straw-covered floor. They made their way down the steel ladder and turned to take in the room.  
  
Small but functional, there were stacks of cots and bedrolls, med kits and racks of automatic weapons, more racks of ammunition. And electric lights strung overhead. Friendly, mostly clean faces greeted them…actual, real smiles. Leo’s mom gulped back a sob, then all the adults were talking at once.  
  
“Hey, kid. Open this and help yourself to a protein bar. And your friend, too. You guys look hungry.” Anders passed a small white barrel over to him. He and Lisa popped the seal together. When he saw the food bars, his throat started tightening.  
  
It was the full pack of anti-rad meds, though, that made Leo shed his first tears since the attack.  
  
 _Thank you, whoever did this. Thank you so much._ He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and wondered if the unknown saviors were still alive.  
  
  
  
********************************  
  
  
  
Days had blurred into weeks: frantic runs and scrambles, impossible decisions needing to be made around the clock, a million things to think about, and always on the fly. Bill looked haggard most of the time, and Laura was sure she didn’t look much better. They’d both made more of an effort today, though. It was a matter of respect, and they’d present their best to the fleet for this.  
  
It was a strange crew, she reflected. Since the attacks, people had fallen into a semblance of order, a mix of bikers, civilians, and military shaking out into a single entity.  
  
Survivors.  
  
She tried not to think about the ships they’d lost. She had a list in her… _their_  quarters with every name, each vessel they’d left behind.  
  
And the names of the warriors who lay at her feet, covered with Colonial flags. Bill kept that list in his head, calling each man and woman by name as he led the funeral service with the priest on one side, Laura on the other. She stole a glance under her lashes during the final prayer. The Commander pips didn’t look as incongruous on the leather cut as she’d feared. It was completely against military protocol...she didn’t know a lot about the military but she knew that much.  
  
Nobody had challenged him on it, though. A quick fleet-wide vote had put the Tauron Outlaws as lead crew, their president and his old lady at the head of the table, at least for now. _One day, we’ll need to have a government. I think I remember how to do that._  
  
Bill was getting to the part of his speech they’d rehearsed in their quarters. The lines in his face had deepened as they debated over lies and truth, hope and despair. They had to have something to keep the exhausted, shell-shocked fleet going. And it was a powerful thought...she always felt herself relaxing just a fraction off her usual attack readiness when she imagined it.  
  
“If we’re going to sell this, we need to get a solid picture in our heads, Bill. It has to feel real,” she’d said, curled in his lap in a thirty minute respite from official duties while Saul had the conn.  
  
“Green. Has to have lots of stuff growing wild.” He looked out the porthole into the black.  
  
“Blue sky, and trees, mountain ranges,” she said, mind running over ancient scrolls and their fables.  
  
“Animals, birds…” He kissed her temple, one eye on the clock ticking away their time together. This was as “in the moment” as they ever got anymore. Maybe when this was all over...she didn’t have an inkling of what that might even look like, and gave herself over to the fantasy he was weaving. Maybe they needed that as much as the fleet did.  
  
She snuggled into his chest. They’d be back on duty in a few more minutes, but she was going to take as much from this as she could.  
  
“There should be oceans, too. And freshwater rivers, and little streams in the mountains, water as clear as glass.” She hummed and kissed him on the lips, a promise for their next break. “A spot where we can build a house, or a cabin...something.”  
  
He had been kissing her back like they had all the time in the world when Lee came in.  
  
“Dad? Laura? It’s time for the service.”  
  
  
  
*************************  
  
  
  
  
As she stood beside him, the words of the last prayer fading into the silence, their rehearsal fell away and she felt like she was hearing his speech for the first time.  
  
 _Life here began out there._  
  
She never thought she’d be listening to Bill Adama quote scripture like this, and she bit her cheek against a threatening nervous twitch of amusement. Maybe after they were back in their quarters... His words of their struggle and pain sobered her again, and she straightened to an almost military stance, her posture in sync with his.  
  
 _There’s a thirteenth colony of humankind out there, is there not?_   She felt him turn towards the priest.  
  
Laura felt a trickle of sweat form under her leather cut as the priest, Elosha, said her part.  
  
 _Yes. The scrolls tell us a 13th tribe left Kobol in the early days. They travelled far and made their home upon a planet called Earth, which circled a distant and unknown star._  
  
She thought of sunshine, and a sky filled with clouds instead of raiders. It helped the implausible explanation go down easier. The people before her needed to see her believing this.  
  
Believing in him.  
  
When he got to the part about Outlaws stealing military secrets out from under the noses of the senior command of the Defense Department, she squirmed inside.  
  
 _Well, they saw us steal a battlestar. Maybe military secrets about a mythic Earth won’t be too much of a stretch._  
  
He left the podium and began walking through the caskets. There were flickers of hope on a few faces at first, then a few more.  
  
 _Refuge._  
  
Tears began to trickle, then stream down her cheeks. She’d been looking for refuge long before the attacks. He had given her that; they’d given that to each other. By the gods, they’d give that to the rest of them. To what was left of humanity.  
  
And if Earth wasn’t real, they’d find somewhere and  _make_  it Earth.  
  
 _\--we shall find it, and Earth shall become our new home._  
  
He returned to her side, back ramrod straight, and she could feel the crowd accepting what was coming from his heart. They would find some place, some safe place for them all. They’d put the fear and grief aside, and they’d go on, Cylons or not.  
  
 _We can do this. As long as we’re together, we can do this._  
  
Laura’s eyes shone with hope, tears now dry, as she added her voice to his, their hands gripped together.  
  
“So say we all,” he finished.  
  
“So say we all."  
  
“So say we all!”  
  
It began as scattered shouts, then built to a roar, and she imagined the ship, the stars, the Cylons trembling in the face of their will, these last members of humanity.  
  
She met Bill’s eyes, and saw decades of hope shining in the blue. We will find a home, they said. We will go on, or die trying.  
  
“All the way to the end,” she whispered, then raised her voice, joining with the crowd.  
  
Joining with him.  
  
 _So say we all._  
  
  
  
  


 

 

The End

 


End file.
